


Gingerbread House

by koanju (verstehen)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-01
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:33:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verstehen/pseuds/koanju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to Iljana and Utopia for helping me fix my atrocious German.</p></blockquote>





	1. Throwing Out the Welcome Mat

Gingerbread House  
Chapter One: Throwing Out The Welcome Mat  
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. With thanks to Katie, Kailing, and Rin.

* * *

Imagine a gingerbread house. The most delicious and beautiful you've ever seen. Golden brown gingerbread walls, covered with fluffy white frosting at the eaves. The frosting is decorated with shining gumdrops, in varying colors; candy apple red, lime green, lemon yellow, licorice black. The windows and doors are marked with melted chocolate, the lines not as straight as those of the frosting; perhaps the hand that created them was unsteady due to the awkward position, or perhaps the hand stopped to taste the chocolate. The doorknob is stuck on with a small dab of white frosting, and made of a small, round chocolate chip.

Now imagine sending this castle of gingerbread houses to Harry Potter.

Draco Malfoy read his father's letter over again and sighed to himself. Potter this, Potter that. Perhaps the world would have been better off if Potter had been born to Lucius Malfoy. At least then Draco wouldn't get idiotic requests such as this right in middle of his N.E.W.T.s.

_Draco,_

A package will arrive at midnight tonight. In it is a gingerbread house. **Do not eat it.** You must give it to the Potter boy. Make sure he is holding it by 9am. I will arrive by the end of the week to relieve you of the house.

Lucius Malfoy

On one level, Draco supposed, it seemed silly to be worrying about his N.E.W.T.s. His life had been planned from birth: grow up, become Hogwarts Head Boy, return to Malfoy Manor, marry some woman his mother and father picked for him, and then take his place at his father's side either worshiping Voldemort, or if Voldemort was defeated, helping his father rule the Death Eaters as the new Dark Lord. N.E.W.T.s were for people like the Gryffindors. The ones who could blithely go out into the world, feeling fresh, with no expectations placed on their shoulders. No weight. N.E.W.T.s helped them decide what they wanted to do. Draco could fail every single test, and his life wouldn't change.

He idly wondered what his father planned to do to Potter and if this was a plan for or against Voldemort. He assumed the gingerbread house was going to be a Portkey, destined to take Potter away to some remote location where no one could hear him scream.

Draco rolled his eyes as he looked down at the letter a second time. Didn't they learn? The Portkey hadn't worked when Potter was 14. It wasn't going to work now, three years later.

"Draco?" He looked over at Pansy Parkinson as she simpered at him. He regretted the impulse that led him to take her to the Yule Ball three years ago. She hadn't stopped latching onto him since. Draco believed firmly that the one ambition that Pansy had, the one thing that separated her from Slytherin, and say... Hufflepuff, was the strong ambition to marry someone rich and powerful. Draco, in his fifth year, had taken to slipping hints that Goyle would be more than willing to take a trophy wife. Pansy hadn't caught on.

"Yes?"

"Draco, you have the most unbelievable scowl on your face. Have you gotten bad news?" she continued timidly.

Draco looked over at her, and she cringed under the full force of the glare. "Oh, my father just wrote me. Apparently the Dark Lord has taken to disco music like a duck on water. The fool is changing his stance on Mudbloods, and is considering looking up Dumbledore to apologize for all the trouble he's caused the last few years," he lied sourly, before standing up and stalking out of the hall, not even bothering to sneer at the shocked expression on Pansy's face.

He stalked down to the dungeons, heading towards Snape's classroom. He stopped for a moment, smoothing the scowl off his face, and strode into the classroom. Snape was standing at the head of the class, dividing potion ingredients into small groups. Idly Draco wondered if this was for class, or something Voldemort had asked Snape to cook up. "You're early, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said quietly, before turning back to his task.

"Breakfast didn't agree with me," he said simply, sitting down at his usual spot. He pulled out some parchment, and began writing a letter to his father.

_Dear Father,_

I will do as you ask, but I do hope you realize that Dumbledore has protected Potter from Portkeys. The old fool made a special point of letting the rest of the school know about it, probably in hopes that it would get back to the Dark Lord.

Draco smirked at the parchment slightly. It was always better to cover one's backside when dealing with Lucius Malfoy. Let alone the Dark Lord.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Snape's voice broke into Draco's writing. He looked up. "Would you care to help me?" There was a faintly menacing note in Snape's voice, one Draco remembered from his childhood. His father must have been in contact with the professor recently.

"Certainly, Professor Snape." Draco put his parchment away in his robes, where he could be sure that no one would find it, and walked to the front of the class. "What would you like me to do?"

Snape pointed to a cauldron near the corner to the right of his desk. "Stir that. Do **not** let it boil." Draco nodded, and started at his task. "Has the package arrived?" Snape continued.

Draco rolled his eyes. The complicated language involved with being a Death Eater in public places always struck him as silly. _"Is the package ready?" "The delivery will be made soon." "Special arrangements have been made."_ Draco's personal favorite piece of code came from Crabbe's father. He'd heard it when he was about eight; the remaining Death Eaters that his father had rounded up were trying to subtly kill, bribe, or maim their way into high positions at the Ministry. Lucius Malfoy, of course, already had his, but was, as always, an ambitious Slytherin; Lucius wanted the Minister of Magic position. _"The biscuits are ready to be eaten,"_ Draco still got a laugh out of remembering Crabbe Senior's dark bass intoning that sentence. No innocent conversations ever went like that. Saying sentences like that was a dead giveaway for suspicious activity. "No, my father wrote me to say that the _package,_" Draco sneered as he said it, "will arrive tomorrow morning. Do you know what's in it?"

"No, your father wanted to make sure the package was a surprise for everyone involved." Draco mentally lifted an eyebrow; was that worry in Snape's normally acerbic voice? Perhaps _that_ was the cause of Snape's annoyed tone earlier. Draco had known Snape since he was a boy. In fact, Snape had been named his Godfather before the Dark Lord's first fall. And the quickest way to get Snape's goat, other than Longbottom's sheer inability to get anything right or Potter's usual display of stupidity, was to leave him out of the information loop. Severus Snape needed to have control. All of his ducks had to be in a row. Draco had once read a Muggle psychology text, and was able to spot many stereotypes amongst the Hogwarts population. Severus Snape was the very definition of "anal-retentive." "What do you know of it, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape asked.

Draco shrugged slightly, the motion awkward as he extended his arms stirring the potion. "I only know two things: it's a gingerbread house, and whatever it does is set to go off at 9am." He looked over at his mentor. Snape was nodding distractedly.

"A gingerbread house?" he muttered in thought. "Not a Portkey, surely, Lucius isn't stupid enough to try the same trick twice." Snape looked over at Draco.

"I don't know either. Unless Father means to kill Potter with sugar shock, I haven't a clue. You of all people should know how little he tells me." Snape nodded, it was true. While Draco was able to put on all the airs of a Death Eater, his father had refused to initiate him until he was out of school. The reports Draco brought home with him at every holiday, not to mention the furious exchanges of owls whenever the Death Eaters were planning something, were too helpful to the cause to waste. Intelligence gathering would be stopped if any of the children were initiated as Death Eaters. Millicent Bulstrode had been expelled the day after she had been initiated and received her Dark Mark. Draco still hadn't figured out how Dumbledore knew. Unless it was the spy. Somehow, even with all the bits of intelligence that Draco was able to gather, the plans always went wrong. Even when they went right, like giving Riddle's diary to the Weasley girl, or the Portkey during the Triwizard Tournament, the situation still ended up wrong. Draco had once asked his father during his fifth year if it was possible that there was a traitor amongst the Death Eaters, and received a vicious backhand for his trouble. He had learned one lesson from that: don't ask the difficult questions in person.

He stirred, contemplating the various different people it could be. Crabbe and Goyle weren't intelligent enough to be turncoats. Plus, Draco had done enough to ensure their undying loyalty. He'd proven himself to them as a child; Crabbe and Goyle may have the combined IQ of a sock, but they didn't stick around Draco Malfoy simply to copy his homework and push people out of his way. It was simply a matter of knowing who wanted what, and going to whatever lengths to provide that. Crabbe had been easy to garner support from; they had been neighbors as children, and often played together. Draco had been eight when he discovered what Crabbe wanted. The taller, stronger, less intelligent boy simply wanted to be dominated. Oh, he loved the feeling that came from causing blood, pain, and death. But what Crabbe loved more than seeing another person's blood was his own. Crabbe wanted to _bleed._

Draco and Crabbe had been playing in the Malfoy Manor hedge maze. Draco had been fascinated with it as a child, the tall green hedges that seemed to grow oppressively as you walked through the maze. His father, seeing Draco's love of the maze had taught him a charm that would always lead Draco safely out, but had refused to tell Draco what was at the center. Two years later, Draco still hadn't found his way through. It was as if the hedges _moved_ simply to foil him in his quest. That particular morning, Draco had dragged Crabbe with him to the Maze, and they walked through in silence. Rounding a left turn, the pair of children had walked right into a large man. The man, tall, bulky, with brown hair, had to have been one of the Death Eaters Draco's father was entertaining in the evening. Draco had demanded what the man was doing in his Maze, and had been punched away. "Little boys should stay away from grownup things," the man sneered, hiding something behind his back. Draco had stood up and glared at the man. He motioned to Crabbe, who darted behind the odious man's back to try and grab his treasure. The man started, and Draco caught a glimpse of something black, and round, and shiny. A ball, or sphere of some sort. The man had retaliated by kicking Crabbe in the head, and walking away. Draco had walked over to his friend, and helped him up. He had been faintly surprised to see a thin trail of blood rolling past Crabbe's lip and over his chin. The other boy had been smiling.

Goyle had been slightly more complicated than Crabbe. While Crabbe craved simple pain, Goyle craved anything that made him feel. Draco hadn't met Goyle until he was nine. While Goyle's father was a Death Eater, Goyle had spent most of his childhood overseas with his mother, apparently in training to be the greatest wizard assassin the world has ever seen. Draco had remembered laughing hysterically when his father told him that after his first meeting with Goyle. When his father coldly inquired what Draco found so amusing, Draco had given his true opinion of Goyle's intelligence. A truly good assassin was smart, Goyle would never live up to his father's ambition. The boy knew more hexes than Draco and Crabbe combined, but always forgot them ten minutes after learning them, for example. Goyle knew he'd never live up to his father's expectations, and did his best to break out of the nine years of training he had endured. Goyle had endured the Cruciatus Curse so many times that the other boy's nerves were dead. Goyle, literally, couldn't feel anything but excruciating pain or pleasure.

Having found the weaknesses of both boys, Draco had quickly stepped into the role of supplier, and ingratiated himself to them for their entire lifetime. Draco supplied what they craved, and they supplied what Draco himself was either too disdainful, or too busy to deal with: namely physical labor.

So, two suspects eliminated. That left the seventh year Slytherin girls, Blaise Zabini, one Ravenclaw, a few Hufflepuffs, and Snape himself. Draco had ruled out all the younger students because they were truly too young to be either invited to counsels, or sneak into them. Not to mention the lack of ability to keep their mouth shut.

Draco pondered Blaise for a moment. The other boy was really too much of a loner to be trusted, and to make matters worse, Draco had no idea what the other boy's ambition was.

"You can stop stirring now, Mr. Malfoy," Snape's voice broke into Draco's thoughts. He looked up, nodded, and took the large wooden spoon out of the caldron.

"What next, professor?"

Snape looked wryly at Draco. "What, you mean you didn't bother to figure out what was in that caldron? I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco instantly did his best to look contrite. "I apologize, sir. I was thinking."

"Potter?"

Draco eyed his professor for a moment. "Yes," he lied simply.

"Just don't hex him in my class, Draco," Snape said, continuing to stare at Draco.

"Of course, sir. I wouldn't want to get _you_ into trouble," Draco replied pointedly.

Snape's eyebrows rose to the vicinity of his hair. Whatever he was about to say in response was interrupted by the entrance of a few students for class. Draco just smiled at Snape sweetly, doing his best to put the other man on his guard. It was possible that if there were a traitor that person could be a student. But the most likely person for a leak at Hogwarts was either Draco himself, or Snape. Snape had the access on both ends of the chain, whereas none of the children were able to get information or take part in planning raids. And unless someone had been Polyjuicing Crabbe and Goyle, Draco himself wasn't the leak. That left Snape as a loose end to be dealt with. It was much more fun tackling opponents when they knew what was coming. Draco and Snape stared at each for a few more moments before Draco broke the standoff and headed to his seat. He pulled out his letter to his father and continued.

_I would appreciate it if you could explain what exactly I'm going to be holding onto a **gingerbread house** for a full week. It would be much easier to hide, conceal, or lie about if I knew what it did._

Draco Malfoy

Draco snorted down at his handwriting. He almost wished he could see his father's face as he struggled to decide if he should congratulate Draco on demanding information as a man would, or punishing his impudence for demanding information, especially when Draco was referring to events without the elaborate Death Eater code. With Draco's luck, it would end up being both. Lucius hadn't been the most stable recently.

"Draco?" He looked up, and Pansy was standing in front of him. He just stared at her. "I'm sorry if I offended you in the great hall."

Draco smiled at Pansy, and waved her off benevolently. She dropped down in the seat next to him, and started to chat absently. Draco didn't pay much attention, but he did catch a reference to "Christmas" and "family dinner." He refrained from rolling his eyes at her. Once, when he had been fourteen, after Draco had taken Pansy to the ball, the Malfoy's had been invited over to the Parkinson's for a Christmas Eve dinner. The whole affair had been a long, laborious event, and to top it off, the food had been terrible. Obviously the Parkinson's had invited them over in hopes of impressing Lucius Malfoy, and perhaps begin a little marriage arrangements while they were at it.

Thankfully for Draco's sanity, his father had been disgusted, rather than impressed, which didn't bode well for the Parkinson's hopes of marriage. Which was just as well, because Draco would marry Potter before he ever touched Pansy. The Yule Ball had been bad enough. She'd even tried to kiss him; a slobbery affair in the middle of a dance. Draco had shoved her off, and left back for the Slytherin dorms.

Draco looked down at his letter to his father and decided to send it after Potions. "You're going to smash the Slytherins today, right Harry?" the Weasel's voice intruded on Draco's thought. He'd completely forgotten about the Quidditch game that evening, a lapse that didn't bode well for the game itself. The Gryffindor trio had sat down right in front of Malfoy and Pansy. Draco vaguely wondered if they were gluttons for punishment. Of course, he was perfectly happy to provide for their masochistic tendencies. He hadn't gotten anywhere near his quota of Potter bashing this week anyway.

"Smash _us_, Weasel?" Draco scoffed. "You'd have a better chance of getting lucky with McGonagall." Weasel's face reddened. "Oh, how sweet! You're color coordinated!"

"Leave us alone, Malfoy," Potter said quietly, placing his hand on the Weasel's shoulder, forcing the taller boy to turn back towards the front of the room. Draco sneered at their backs. He noticed the Granger Mudblood staring at him hostilely. He smiled sweetly, and waved at her. The Mudblood grimaced, and turned back around. Draco considered their backs for a few moments.

Potter and his cronies had been less hostile over the last year. Draco chalked it up to Diggory's death in fourth year. But regardless of the reason, outside of the Weasel, they seemed to be making a concerted effort to avoid Draco. Only the Weasel seemed to seek out confrontations. While this provided less irritation for Draco if his plans backfired, it also provided less pleasure. One of his favorite things to do was to torment Potter. Life just wasn't as fun if he couldn't see that bright red color slowly creep up Potter's neck and face as he got increasingly more furious or embarrassed. Draco absolutely loved that color.

Crabbe and Goyle finally entered the room and sat down, flanking Draco. He could see them both smirking down at the Weasel and the Mudblood's backs, respectively. Looking over at Crabbe, he raised an eyebrow. Crabbe's smile turned nasty, and he pulled out a Filibuster Firework, and pointed at the caldron in front of Potter and his cronies. Draco cocked his head and considered. It would be amusing to see Potter's potion explode. However, since they were sitting behind Potter's cronies, Draco would most likely get drenched in the stuff as well. He shook his head at Crabbe, and mouthed "later." Crabbe looked disappointed, but nodded.

"If you would all _please_ take your seats?" Snape said pointedly, looking over at Longbottom, who was standing in the aisle talking to Potter. Draco poked Goyle, who stuck a foot out and tripped the Squib as he frantically tried to slip into a seat. "10 points from Gryffindor, Longbottom. Go **sit down.**" Snape continued, glaring at his least favorite student. Potter turned around and glared at Draco, who gave him his best "who me?" expression. Potter snorted in disbelief, and shook his head at Draco. "We'll be making the Excidocidi Potion today. It's properties are similar to a simple Obliviate memory charm, however the potion is much more powerful, and much less precise." Draco tuned Snape out, he could make the Excidocidi potion he could make in his sleep. He looked down and saw the Mudblood making copious notes. Just like the bitch. Potter seemed to be daydreaming, and the Weasel was doodling a picture of Snape as a demon on his parchment. It was a wonder those two passed any classes, let alone got high grades. "And you'll be working pairs today. Potter with Malfoy." Draco glared down at Potter and waited for the other boy to move to him. He noticed that the Weasel was with Crabbe, and the Mudblood with Goyle.

Honestly, could Snape get any more predictable? Just once Draco would like to make the number of students in the class uneven so that he wouldn't have to be paired with Potter. Before Crabbe completely shifted away, Draco caught his arm and pointed over at the Longbottom Squib, who was working with Pansy. Crabbe smiled viciously, and nodded. For once, the idiot had caught Draco's meaning without Draco having to make things explicit. "Well, Potty," he turned to his partner, "hadn't you better get started?"

Potter sighed. "Not today, Malfoy," he whined. "Why don't you get the ingredients?"

Draco stared at him. "I don't think so, Potty."

"10 points from Gryffindor, for not cooperating with your partner, Potter," Snape called out from where he was looming behind the Squib. Potter rolled his eyes, and walked away to get the ingredients for the potion. Even if the other man was a spy, his blatant favoritism did come in handy. Draco smiled over at Snape, the other man just nodded in response before turning back to Longbottom and Pansy.

Potter returned, and handed Draco the parts of the potion that didn't need to be chopped, sliced, or diced. Draco tossed them in the caldron, added water and started stirring. He looked over at the other boy as his arms rotated automatically. Potter had grown up a little bit since the fourth year; he was taller than Draco, but also lankier. They were both still the shortest boys in the seventh year, something that irked Draco to no ends. Potter had no right getting taller than Draco was. Potter's glasses were held together with tape, and the hair was still pointed every which way. Draco supposed the biggest change was in Potter's face. He had lost his childhood curves, and his face was more angular. Worry lines had settled around his eyes, giving crow's feet to him. He looked _old._ "Here," Potter thrust the cut arnica root into Draco's face. Draco pointed at the caldron, and Potter dropped the root pieces in.

Draco sighed slightly. He wondered how the hell he was supposed to give a gingerbread house to Potter. The other boy wasn't likely to accept anything given to him by a Malfoy, so in person was right out. Any type of shrinking spell and then depositing the house on Potter's person wouldn't necessarily guarantee that Potter was holding the house when the spell activated. Same with school owl. Perhaps a challenge? No, that wouldn't work well. They both had Care of Magical Creatures in the morning, and Hagrid was more likely to break up any fights before they really got started. Draco supposed the only way to really make sure Potter was holding it, was to shove it in Potter's hands at just the exact moment the spell triggered. It was either that or face his father's wrath. "You're quiet today, Malfoy," Potter muttered. Draco glared over at him.

"Perhaps I just want to get the assignment done, Potty. Unlike you, I do take my schoolwork seriously," Draco smirked over at the other boy and was pleased to note the first small sign of red creeping up past the collar of Potter's robes.

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy."

Draco laughed. "You're the one who was complaining about me being too quiet. There's just no pleasing you, is there, Potty?"

The red pushed up further and was now staining Potter's cheeks. "Just keep stirring."

"Not in the mood, Potty? Oh, you poor baby. Did something happen? Did you finally discover that Cho Chang is dating Marcus Flint?" Potter's head swung over to stare at Draco at that last taunt. Surprise seemed to be warring with confusion. Draco smiled.

"I have no idea where you got _that_ idea, Malfoy, but Cho has far better taste," Potter replied simply, before turning back to the mugwort he was slicing.

Draco laughed at the unexpected comeback. Seems as if Potter was improving. "Oh, that's right! How silly of me! Chang does have taste. I mean, she didn't ever date you, right? It's not like she could have missed you following her around like a little lost puppy?" Potter seemed to be chopping the herb far harder than was called for. "But no, I have it on the best of the authority that she and Flint are happy as can be. In fact, I heard it from Chang herself the last time I saw the pair of them in Diagon Alley." Potter's knuckles were white from the death grip he had on the knife. "I say, what is the world coming to? I'm sure the Weasel and the Mudblood will be breeding next."

Potter turned towards Draco, and pointed the knife. "If you have a problem with me, take it up with me," he spat furiously. "Leave my friends out of it." Potter turned back to the root and began chopping with renewed vigor.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve, Potty? Would it help if I said I was sorry? And promised to kiss it and make it better?"

"Leave off, Malfoy," Potter said, a warning note entering his voice. Seemed as if Mr. Potter was close to explosion.

"You might want to be careful with that mugwort, Potter. There has to be some left to put in the potion, you know."

"Here, Malfoy," Potter roughly shoved the chopped herbs over at Malfoy, and stalked to the back of the classroom. Draco watched him stomp away in bemusement. He leaned over towards Goyle at the next workstation.

"Seems as if some people in class can't take a joke," Draco commented smoothly. The Mudblood glared at Draco and he pretended not to notice.

"10 points from Gryffindor, Potter. Don't leave your workstation again," Snape called out from where he was standing next to Lavender Brown and Millicent Bulstrode's caldron. Potter returned, looking far more resigned than angry a few minutes later.

"Are you ready for the..." Potter checked his list of ingredients. "Cucumber? Who puts cucumber in a potion?" he asked in a flabbergasted tone of voice.

"It's for taste, Potter. No one willingly drinks a memory potion like this, it's too powerful and too nonspecific. Potions like this are _given,_ not used," Draco replied smugly.

Potter looked over at Draco. "Have _you_ ever --" Whatever Potter was going to say was cut off by a loud explosion. Crabbe had evidently lit the Filibuster Firework and thrown it in the Mudblood's caldron. The Mudblood and Goyle were covered in puce slime. Snape, who had been inspecting their work at the time, had also been drenched.

"50 points from Gryffindor!" Snape roared. "AND GET OUT OF MY CLASS! ALL OF YOU!" He pointed a shaking hand at the door, and everyone, as soon as they could remove their caldrons from the fire and chill them, fled. Seems as if Snape was too angry to care about the reprimand he'd get from Dumbledore for not completing the lesson. Although, given the way Draco had seen Dumbledore handle his professors, a "reprimand" mostly likely consisted of not asking Snape for tea the rest of the week.

The rest of the day had only been marginally better for Draco. While the sight of Snape and the Mudblood covered in slime had been entertaining, his astronomy class with Professor Sinistra had been a disaster. She had assigned a three-foot essay on Andromeda. Dinner had also been eventful, mostly having to do with Crabbe and Goyle letting off more fireworks. Both of them had ended up with detentions for the rest of the month. That left Draco alone to study until the Quidditch game in the evening. That, and of course plan how the hell he was going to get the damn package to Potter in the first place.

Madame Hooch had been refereeing. The Snitch had been released and shot straight towards Potter, as if it was called through a summoning spell. All the other Seeker had to do was hold out his arm and leisurely grab the Snitch. It was infuriating, and Draco had demanded that the Snitch be checked for tampering. The game score was being held until the Snitch could be thoroughly checked.

Then there had been the fiasco with the arrival of the gingerbread house. By the time the house had arrived, Draco had a marginal plan for delivery. It was simple, but he figured it would be effective. The problem was in the timing. He headed up to the Owlrey to accept the package just before midnight. Draco slunk through the corridors, hoping to miss both Mrs. Norris and Filch. He arrived safely, and in time to take the package.

His father's large peregrine falcon glided through the rooftops, and dropped a medium sized box into Draco's hands. On it, was a note:

_Draco,_

Here is the package. Make **sure** Potter has it by 9:00 this morning. There are dire consequences if you fail.

Lucius Malfoy

"There are dire consequences if you fail," Draco mocked his father's words in a falsetto. "Who talks like that? No wonder Potter killed Voldemort 15 years ago, all of his supporters were too caught up in a cliché to help him." Draco shook his head, and looked around to see if the falcon was waiting for a reply. It wasn't. "Bastard couldn't even wait to see if I'd gotten the package, could he? He probably trusts the falcon more than he trusts me." Draco patted his pocket, where the letter to his father was still waiting to be sent and grimaced. "Bastard," he repeated, this time referring to his own forgetfulness. Draco opened the package and removed the ornate gingerbread house. It did look quite good to eat. Draco shrugged, pulled out his wand, and shrunk the house until it was small enough to fit in his palm.

Draco stalked back to the dungeons, and crawled into bed. It wasn't so much that he hated his father, Draco just didn't trust Lucius. For good reason. When he was a child, and no real threat to his father's power in either the Ministry, or as a Death Eater, Draco had been pampered, spoiled, and loved. But now, as he was growing older and becoming an accomplished wizard skilled in the Dark Arts, Lucius was slowly starting to keep Draco out of the loop. He had once overheard a discussion between his mother Narcissa and Lucius. Narcissa had compared the father and son to Zeus and Chronos. As for Draco, he would much rather earn his own place. Although, stealing his father's did have its merits.

Draco was too pragmatic to figure that killing his father would earn him an in with Voldemort. Voldemort didn't approve of betrayal within the ranks. Betraying someone like Harry Potter was one thing, but another Death Eater? No.

Draco rolled over in bed, pulled the covers up to his chin, and concentrated on falling asleep. His father was a problem for another day.

Morning came quicker than Draco was expecting, perhaps due to his unusually late night. "Draco, get up..." Crabbe was shaking his shoulder. Draco punched out blindly, and ended up socking Crabbe in the arm. Most likely, the punch had hurt Draco more than it hurt Crabbe. "We have Care of Magical Creatures in 10 minutes!"

"I'm up," he muttered. "Wait, did you say 10 minutes? You let me sleep through breakfast?" He gave his most menacing glare at Crabbe and leaped out of bed.

"We _tried_ to wake you," Goyle replied sheepishly from the door. He held a few pieces of toast in his hands. Draco threw on a pair of slacks, a dress shirt, and his robes. He grabbed the toast out of Goyle's hands before the other boy could start eating them. "Hey, Draco, those were mine!"

"_'Were'_ being the key word in that sentence," Draco replied under his breath. "Let's go, or we'll be late." He stalked out of the dorm, chewing on toast, confident that Crabbe and Goyle would follow.

They arrived at Hagrid's cottage just in time for class to start. Hagrid was letting the Cu Sith out of his cottage, where the large creature had been spending time with Fang. Draco idly wondered if the pair of them were going to mate. Now that'd provide an interesting new species.

Draco glanced down at his watch. 8:55. Time to put his plan into action. "Stay here," Draco told Crabbe and Goyle. He casually strolled over to where Potter, the Weasel, and the Mudblood were standing. He fingered the house inside his pocket, and smiled at the trio as they stared at him. "Hello, good morning. It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

"What do you want, Malfoy?" the Weasel asked, annoyed.

"Oh, nothing really. Just wanted to chat about the weather," Draco said in the nicest tone possible.

"Weather?" the Mudblood repeated.

"My, is that an echo?" Draco said, in the same tone.

"Shove off, Malfoy. We don't want you here," Potter said firmly, pointing towards Crabbe and Goyle.

"Oh, is this more of the famous Potter brilliance at judging people? I would have thought you'd have realized by now that you have no taste." The Weasel growled in response to Draco's comment.

"Don't Ron," the Mudblood cautioned. "He's just baiting you, and it's not worth it."

"Actually, given the state of his bank account, I am quite worth it," Draco told her, finally allowing his tone to become disdainful. "Imagine, being both an idiot and poor. What a tragedy. How _do_ you ever survive, Weasel?"

"C'mon Ron, let's go over there," the Mudblood began pulling the Weasel away, but Potter stayed.

"All right, Malfoy, that's it. You can insult me to the world ends, but I draw the line at my friends."

"How altruistic. Just like a Gryffindor," Draco pronounced the word like a curse.

"We'll duel then. Tonight. Midnight. At the Quidditch pitch," Potter replied, his hands clenched. Draco laughed.

"Why wait?" He took a swing a Potter's stomach, aiming low in hopes of dropping Potter to the ground. Potter doubled over, but didn't fall. Draco followed his punch up with a swift push, and this time Potter overbalanced. He sprawled on his back, and Draco jumped on top of him. He quickly reached into his pants, and pulled out the gingerbread house. Once he had that cupped gently in his right hand, Draco grabbed Potter's right hand. Praying that the timing was right, Draco dodged Potter's return punch, and slammed the gingerbread house into Potter's hand. He tensed to jump back and avoid the repercussions of the spell, but Potter had grabbed onto the back of Draco's shirt tightly. Potter swung the same fist the house was in at Draco's face.

There was a flash of white light, and he passed out.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Peregrine falcon: in the hierarchy of falconry, an Earl or a Duke can only fly a peregrine. That seemed to jive with my understanding of Lucius's place in Voldemort's hierarchy, so I picked it for his personal delivery bird. Plus, it being a falcon, and not an owl, it'd stand out as superior.

Cu Sith:  
Cu Siths are the green fairy dogs of Britain (specifically Scotland, if I remember correctly). It's roughly the size of a large calf, and generally considered very dangerous to meet. Seems like Hagrid's sort of animal.

Excidocidi:  
A rather corrupted version of _excido,_ which in Latin is _to fall out, or down, to fall from._ Essentially, it's a memory potion. While Obliviate can erase a certain amount of time from someone, such as a few minutes or hours, while this potion is far more powerful and much less specific. Don't worry, there won't be a test until chapter 3.


	2. Opening the Doors

Draco jerked out of unconsciousness to the sound of virulent cursing. He kept his eyes closed and just listened to that light tenor go on as he waited for his head to stop spinning. When Draco finally cracked open his eyes, he had developed a profound admiration for the other person's ability to curse; it was the first time he had ever heard the word "iguana" used to help describe a person's genitals. He groaned slightly as he sat up. Sitting in an ornate wooden rocking chair across from him was Potter.

Draco shook his head, and drudged up a slight smirk. "Well, if it isn't The Boy Who Cursed. I'm surprised no one has washed your mouth out with soap, Potty."

"This is your fault, Malfoy. What the hell did you do?" Potter stood and stalked over to Draco. He kneeled in front of the other boy and glared menacingly. Draco ignored him and slowly stood up, trying to regain his equilibrium. Whatever happened seemed to have affected his balance. He nearly fell, and caught himself before he landed on Potter.

Draco looked around. It seemed that the gingerbread house had been a Portkey, he supposed. They were in an extravagant and large ballroom. The room was dark, and the dusty purple curtains that hung around 3 walls of the room hid any signs of the outside surroundings. In the far left corner, Draco noticed a grand piano. It was so heavily covered in dust that it looked gray instead of a brown wooden color. On the other side of the room was a phonograph. Potter and Draco himself were standing in the middle. The only other thing in the room was the chair Potter had been sitting in. Draco walked towards the curtain in front of him, and began following it around the wall. "What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?" Potter exclaimed angrily. Draco turned back to the other boy. Potter's hands were clenched and his face was as red as the Weasel's hair.

"Why, Potty, considering how many situations like this you've been in, I'm surprised you haven't grasped the concept of 'looking for a way out' yet. But I suppose it's a bit too _complex_ for you."

Potter's fist clenched tighter, and even in the dark room, Draco could see the whites of his knuckles. The expression on his face, however, was one of faint surprise. "You mean you don't know where we are?" Draco gave Potter a sardonic look before clapping three times. The sound echoed through the empty room. He then turned back to the task at hand. "I'll take the right side then," Potter continued quietly. Draco could hear him mumbling under his breath, but as Potter walked away his voice became too indistinct to make out the words.

Draco continued searching the curtains until he found a break behind the piano. He glanced over at Potter, and saw that the other boy was on the other side of the room. Draco parted the curtains and saw a narrow brown door. Oddly enough, it wasn't covered in dust. Draco reached out and grabbed the handle. The handle refused to turn. "Have you found anything, Potter?" Draco called out, turning so that Potter's view of the door was blocked.

"No, the curtain doesn't seem to end, and it won't lift off the floor," Potter said. "You?"

Draco raised his eyebrows at Potter's tone. The other boy sounded frustrated, but was making an effort to be civil. Seemed as if Potter believed Draco about not knowing where they were, if nothing else. "I found a door, but the handle seems to be stuck." Potter jogged across the room and stopped in front of Draco, who moved out of the way. Potter tried the handle, and it didn't turn for him either.

"Maybe if we try it together?" Potter suggested tentatively. Draco sneered at the other boy.

"You must be joking, Potty."

Potter sighed. "Look Malfoy, I believe you when you say you don't know where we are. But considering it's a trap for _me,_ there are most likely several easy ways to die here. So can't you put aside your hatred until we get out of here?" Potter held out his hand, instantly reminding Draco of his own gesture to Potter when he had sought the other boy out on the Hogwarts Express their first year.

"I believe the words you said to me when I offered you an alliance with the Malfoys was something along the lines of _'I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,'_" Draco said in a falsetto. Potter just looked at him for a few minutes before sighing.

"Fine. But let me put it this way, if you don't help me now, you'll be trapped in this room. With me. Alone. Until god knows who shows up to kill me. So why don't you help me try and get this damn door open, and then we can go our separate ways, all right?" Draco snorted, but Potter did have a point. Draco stuck his hands on the doorknob, and started turning. Potter placed his hands on top of Draco's and added his force to the mix. The knob slowly creaked left, and the door opened. "Thanks," Potter said wryly.

"Don't mention it," Draco replied, forcing open the door, and doing his best to get away from the person who had caused the whole problem in the first place. He let Potter stick his head out the door and walk out before following. The hallway they walked into was long, and extended both ways. Large open windows covered with white sheet-like curtains seemed to extend as far as the hallway did. There was a single candelabra on the floor in front of the door. "You know, Potty, I think whoever designed this place has watched too many bad Muggle horror films," Draco said firmly.

Potter gave him a look. "What would _ you_ know about Muggle movies, Malfoy?"

Draco smiled sweetly at the other boy until Potter's expression grew suspiciously blank. "Oh, good old fashioned slasher films from America are an integral part of the Young Death Eater Training Camp my father holds every summer vacation, Potty." Potter jerked at the offhand statement.

"I hope you're joking, Malfoy," he finally said faintly. Potter then shook himself. "Do you want the right or the left?"

Draco reached down and pulled off two candles from the candelabra. "Right." He turned, and without another word, walked away from Potter.

"Wait a minute!" Potter exclaimed. Draco snorted, and rolled his eyes. "You can't just walk away like that, Malfoy!"

Draco turned around and stared at the other boy. "That's exactly what I was planning on doing, Potty. Nice of you to have spotted it. Glad to see those glasses aren't going to waste."

"But... we should make plans..." Potter trailed off looking lost.

"Potty, I know exactly how to get out of here," Draco drawled. He turned and walked a few yards further away from the other boy. He reached into his robes, pulled out his wand pointed it at the glass windows. "Dirumpo," Draco said, and smiled grimly as the glass shattered outwards. Potter was gaping at him. "Honestly, Potty, we're _wizards._ You didn't expect me to walk around looking for the door out, did you?" From the red creeping up Potter's neck, Draco surmised that he had thought that.

Potter continued to gape before he burst into gales of laughter. "This is my boomstick," he managed to get out in-between snorts.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Potty, I look nothing like Bruce Campbell." Funny, imagine Potter watching Muggle horror flicks. And having a sense of humor. Draco supposed anything was possible. It's not like anyone would expect Draco himself to enjoy Muggle movies. His somewhat eccentric Great-Aunt had gotten him hooked when he visited her during the summer between fifth and sixth years. Draco was particularly fond of American Westerns such as Shane, and to his eternal shame, Draco also loved musicals. Victor/Victoria was his favorite. Draco shrugged slightly to himself, before he started picking his way carefully through the broken glass. Potter was still standing there, laughing and clutching his stomach. He figured this would be a good time to get away from the other boy. While Potter may have had a point about cooperation, Draco also knew that this trap was set for Potter specifically. Who knew what things might come looking for Potter? Draco wasn't in Slytherin for nothing, let the Gryffindors keep their precious bravery. Draco would rather be alive and _away_ from danger, than martyred and running _towards_ it. He took after his father in that respect: what good was power if you weren't alive to enjoy it? Being on the frontlines in any type of battle, whether it was physical, magical, corporate, or verbal made you a target. He quickly put one of the candles down on the ground, and continued to hold the other in his left hand. He kept his wand poised for anything that might come running out at them. Draco felt vaguely as if he had broken the rules of this place, and wasn't sure if he wanted to face the repercussion unarmed.

"Lumos," he heard Potter say clearly behind him, and sighed. It seemed to becoming a habit.

"Can't you leave me alone, Potty?" Draco said over his shoulder, annoyed. They seemed to have walked right into a gothic dungeon. In fact, it looked something like the dungeons in Malfoy Manor. Dank, dark, and smelling faintly of mildew.

"Not until I get some answers out of you, Malfoy. I believe you when you say you don't know where we are, but you still know more than you've volunteered. And stop calling me, Potty, Malfoy. I don't go around calling you ridiculous names like 'Mayfly,' do I?"

Draco stopped walking and turned around. Potter looked rather pale in the wand light, and the other boy firmly pushed his glasses up his nose as if to say, _'well, I'm waiting?'_ "_Potter_, the only reason you don't call me 'ridiculous names' is because you can't think of any good ones. _'Mayfly.'_ Honestly."

Potter crossed his arms over his chest. "You still haven't answered my question, Malfoy."

"Perhaps, _Potter,_ that's because you haven't _asked_ any questions, you numbwit." Draco shot back, really starting to get irritated. Dimly, the rational part of his brain made itself known, muttering things about _"not the time to fight, time to run,"_ but that part was overruled swiftly by the primal need to **beat the shit out of Potter.**

Potter looked faintly embarrassed, but Draco could tell that most of the red in his cheeks were caused by anger. "How long have you known about the plan?"

"Oh, and which ephemeral plan are we talking about here, _Potter_?" Draco replied, more calmly this time. He refused to lose his temper with Potter; keeping his cool would only serve to piss the other boy off more. He also pointedly continued to enunciate Potter's last name, wondering how long that would take to get under the other boy's skin.

"Eh-e-eh-what?" Potter stuttered.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Are you sure those Muggles you live with taught you English? Ephemeral, _Potter_. Short-lived."

Potter growled low in his throat, and dropped his arms. Draco could see his hands clenching into fists. "Do you always have to be such a fucking asshole, Malfoy?"

Obviously Potter was angrier than Draco had thought; he didn't often resort to outright cursing. Usually left that portion of their little encounters up to the Weasel, whose mouth was dirtier than a veela's reputation. "Yes, I quite enjoy it, actually," he replied smoothly.

That was all it took. Potter took a swing at Draco, who flinched back instinctively, missing having Potter's fist in his face by inches. Potter, over balanced for the second time that day, couldn't recover in time. Draco pointed his wand at the other boy, and calmly pronounced his fate. "Stupefy!" Potter froze, and fell over and hit the ground.

"What are you doing?" A soprano voice asked from behind Draco. He jumped at the unexpected noise, and swiftly turned. Behind him was standing a little boy. The child looked to be around eight years old, and was wearing a dark gray pants suit, like something out of the Malfoy family gallery. His hair was an unremarkable brown, and he had blue eyes that gleamed in the candlelight. He had knee socks on with brown sandals. He had a small straw hat in his right hand, and a candle in his left. "Why are you attacking that man?" The boy continued. Draco only heard curiosity in his voice.

Draco sighed. He hated children. Even as a child, he had hated them. "Because that man was attacking me," he replied simply.

"Oh," the child cocked his head at Draco. "How did you get here?"

Draco sighed again. He walked over to Potter and stuck the point of his wand into Potter's forehead. "Ennervate." Let the idiots deal with the idiots.

Potter sat up instantly reaching in his robes for his wand. He noticed their visitor and stopped. "Who are you?" The kid stepped back guardedly. He looked as if he was ready to run away. Potter stood up slowly, and approached the kid. "Don't worry, we won't hurt you. My name's Harry Potter. What's yours?"

The kid stepped back again, and shook his head. Draco rolled his eyes. "He's right. He won't hurt you."

The kid turned to look at Draco. "But you said he attacked you!"

Draco sighed for the third time in as many minutes. "Yes, he attacked me. But that was personal, and in all the years I've known him, I've never seen Potter attack anyone else." The kid nodded.

"I'm Hansel," he said, smiling. Draco and Potter exchanged a look. Potter walked up to him, and kneeled down so that they could look face to face.

"Do you know where we are, Hansel?" Potter asked gently. The boy nodded. "Can you tell us?"

"It's my Grandmother's house, Harry," Hansel replied. He turned to Draco. "What's your name?"

"Draco Malfoy," he said shortly. Potter glared at Draco, who simply rolled his eyes in return. "Can you lead us to your grandmother?"

Hansel shook his head. "She's not here right now. Only my sister and I are. She's in the dining room, waiting for me. We're just about to eat. Do you want to come?" Potter and Draco exchanged another look, but both nodded. Hansel smiled widely. "Follow me!" His voice was excited, and he practically ran from the room. Potter and Draco followed at a more sedate pace.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Potter?" Draco asked quietly. Potter looked at him strangely.

"You can't possibly want to leave two _children_ alone in a place like this? Even you can't be that evil, Malfoy."

"For God's sake, Potter," Draco hissed. "Have you forgotten that they sent you here probably to _torture and kill you?_"

Potter shook his head, looking faintly amused. "And all this time, Malfoy, I didn't know you cared. You've hidden it so well."

Draco growled at the other boy. His sense of sarcasm was definitely improving. If only he'd learn there was a time and a _place_ for everything. "No, Potter, actually I'm more concerned about myself right now. But if you want to go off and save the little children, fine. I think I'm going to run swiftly in the other direction!"

Potter stopped, and crossed his arms over his chest again. There was a belligerent look on his face, and Draco could hear his foot taping on the stone floor of the dungeon. Draco refused to look away from his green eyes. "Oh for... I don't know why I'm trying to stop you, Malfoy. From what I recall over the last 6 years, you're not all that good in a crisis, anyway." With that Potter dropped his defensive stance and walked off after Hansel. Draco watched them depart for a moment before turning away.

"Prat," he muttered as he looking away. He cast a quick spell on the wax candle so that that it wouldn't burn down, and started moving in the opposite direction slowly, taking time to inspect the chambers. The more he looked around, the more convinced he was that this place was a replica of the Malfoy Manor dungeons, right down to the iron maiden in the corner of the room. And if it was an exact replica, then he could get out. Provided, of course that Draco remembered the way out. He hadn't been down in the dungeons since his third year in school. And that hadn't been his choice. His father had punished him for dressing up like a Dementor to scare Potter. Every so often, Draco still had nightmares about that trip to the basement of the Manor. "So, if I go left, I should end up at the potions laboratory..." He said quietly, as if just saying it, would make it so.

Draco turned left, and walked around the iron maiden. The candlelight showed some suspiciously red spots on it, and he vaguely wondered when the last time someone had used this dungeon was. As he had hoped, hidden within the stones was a small button. Pushing the button, the trick door opened to another room. However, it was not the potions laboratory. In fact, it was a rather small bedroom with bars on the window. There were broken toys laying on the floor, and shelves lined with rather dusty books. "Well hell," Draco cursed softly. He examined the toys on the floor. Most of them he didn't recognize, so he figured this either had to be a Mudblood's or Muggle's room. He walked over to the window and looked out. All Draco saw was a deep blackness, as if nothing existed beyond the domain of the house. "It's not a Portkey then," he sighed. Draco wasn't quite sure _what_ kind of trap they were in, but he had a sinking suspicion that he and Potter were actually **in** the gingerbread house. " If it's a trap that contains Potter rather than simply killing him, that would certainly explain why Father wanted me to keep the gingerbread house safe. If it's a trap that contains Potter rather than simply killing him," Draco sighed, wondering what his Father was planning now. And exactly what the house was going to do to them both.

He looked around the room he was standing in again, holding the light out so that Draco could get a better look at the corners. He noticed a chest that he hadn't seen earlier, and walked over to it. It was locked both manually and with several locking spells. "Not a Muggle's room then, must be a Mudblood." Draco cocked his head at the chest and wondered if it was worth it. "Probably has some nasty monster locked inside. Or at least a boggart." Draco knelt down and placed the candle next to the chest on the floor and pointed his wand at it. "Alohomora," he muttered, and the lid to the chest sprung open a few centimeters. Draco took a deep breath, stepped back from the chest, and prodded the lid open with his foot. Nothing untoward came rushing out, so he knelt back down and examined the chest. Inside was some Hogwarts books, robes, a wand, and two things that took Draco by surprise: an Invisibility Cloak, and a Firebolt. "Bloody hell," Draco breathed as realization struck, "this is _Potter's_ room. The damn house is taking all these rooms from our heads! _That's_ why the dungeons looked like Malfoy Manor and Potter's room is here."

"Are you Draco?" A sweet soprano similar to Hansel's asked from behind him. Draco jumped slightly, and turned around. A little girl, who looked Hansel's age was standing there. She had the same brown hair and blue eyes that Hansel did. She also wore very thin, round eyeglasses, with a metal frame that gleamed in the candlelight. "My brother told me to look for you, he was afraid you got lost." The girl stepped closer, and Draco saw that she was wearing a black summer dress, it was loose fitting, and was hemmed with ivory. Draco nodded cautiously. "I'm Grethel. If you follow me, we can eat dinner."

"You're Grethel... And your brother is Hansel?" Draco asked in disbelief. "Well, at least one thing about this crazy place makes sense," he muttered under his breath.

"Yes! I like you, you're smart," Grethel smiled brightly, and reached up to grab Draco's wand hand. He drew back quickly and Grethel's smile dimmed. "Don't you like me?" Draco could see her lower lip shaking, and he realized that she was about to cry. Draco sighed.

He handed the candle out to Grethel. "No, that's not it. I just can't put down my wand." Grethel took the candle in her right hand and brightened; now she was able to slip her unoccupied hand into Draco's. A thought struck him. "How do you see in here without light?"

Grethel waved off his question with her right hand, and pulled him away. "Hurry up, Draco! Or the food'll be cold! Or Hansel and Harry will have eaten it all!" The little girl was stronger than she looked, and Draco found himself trotting alongside her to keep up. He tuned out her voice and kept a good eye on where they were going. The passed the Malfoy Manor dungeons and re-entered the long hallway that Draco had blown a hole in. "Grandmother's going to be so **mad** about that hole!" Grethel said loudly. "I'm sure we'll get punished!" She giggled.

Draco looked over at her suspiciously, and trained his wand on her. She was solid, so she couldn't be a ghost. A fairy, maybe? Draco inwardly cursed his lack of attention in Care of Magical Creatures and Defense Against the Dark Arts. He'd always thought Hagrid was a fool, and why would _Draco Malfoy_ ever need to defend against the Dark Arts? He used them daily. He usually spent those classes tormenting Potter, or staring into the distance thinking of ways to torment Potter while looking like he was paying attention. And considering his grades, it wasn't like he really needed to pay attention. Draco was the second in their year in every class except Potions; that he easily beat out the Granger Mudblood. After the words his father had with him after his low grades during Draco's first year, he had made extra efforts to get good marks. Draco studied the girl again. Since he looked like he couldn't avoid meeting up with Potter again, Draco found himself half hoping that Potter might have a clue as to what they were.

Draco snorted. "Not likely."

Grethel stopped and looked at him crossly. "But Draco, we do have Turkish Delight! Grandmother has it made it for us especially!" She stamped her foot on the ground. "I'll show you when we get to the dining room!" Grethel began to pull him back along the hallway more quickly. Draco decided it was safer just not to answer, and went back to studying their surroundings.

They had passed the large hole he had made, and the hallway seemed to widening out. On the left hand side were a long string of wooden doors. On the right side were wooden benches and wooden rocking chairs. "What's behind those doors?" Draco asked Grethel.

She shrugged. "Grandmother doesn't let us go in there, she keeps them all locked up." Despite her nonchalant tone of voice, Grethel sped up, and Draco found himself nearly running to keep up with her. The corridor quickly widened further, and Draco found himself rushing past the entranceway to Malfoy Manor. Now that he thought about it, that ballroom Potter and Draco had woke up in was one he remembered seeing in the West Wing of Malfoy Manor. The hallway, however, had to be Potter's. It was nothing that Draco could remember, and Draco prided himself on his memory.

Grethel stopped, and Draco nearly plowed into her. "We're here!" she said, pointing at the door in front. Draco sighed and opened it. Rather than the dining room he was expecting, Draco found himself confronted by a rather small... _kitchen._ Potter and Hansel were sitting at a table seated for five, and eating.

"Nice to see you waited for us," he mumbled. Potter looked up and scowled. Grethel slipped into the chair next to Hansel. Draco went to sit down at the chair furthest from Harry, when Hansel jumped up.

"That's Grandmother's chair! You can't sit there!" Draco stared at the child.

"I refuse to sit next to Potter. He doesn't even have any civilized manners," Draco hissed. The strange events of the last two days were quickly sapping his control.

"I'm not the one being rude, Malfoy," Potter broke in angrily. Draco could see a small piece of meat stuck in his teeth, and Draco felt his lip curl in response.

Grethel looked at him over her glasses and smiled sweetly. "Please Draco?"

"No." As if a child's smile were ever get him to do something he didn't want to. Of course, this same child had already dragged him here. If child really was the right word for them.

"Draco, do _sit down,_" as Grethel pronounced the words, Draco immediately found himself obeying. It was almost like being under the Imperius curse. Draco scoffed at that notion; his Father had made damn sure Draco could throw off both the Imperius and the Cruciatus Curses with very little damage done to him. Besides, neither child had a wand pointed at Draco, nor there were no spellwords spoken. It was possible that it could be wandless magic, however, that was quite rare, and no creature that Draco knew off could cast such magic without the aid of a spellword or a wand. The latter of which were highly illegal for most creatures to own, and the kind of power it took to cast spells with just a word was generally not evident in other species. Except for House-Elves. Draco scowled at the reminder of Dobby, and then settled for just glaring at the little girl. Potter snorted, and Draco transferred his glare to him as well.

Draco looked down at the food. Potter and the children were serving themselves, so Draco followed suit. The meal was a hearty one: potatoes, turkey, ham, fish, and stuffing. Every place setting seemed to have a different kind of drink: Draco had coffee, the two "children" had pumpkin juice, and Harry seemed to be drinking plain water. The glass at the head of the table was empty. Draco helped himself to a small portion of each type of food presented and then proceeded to push the food around his plate. He was leery of actually eating the food. Draco had been brought up with the history of Persephone, and knew quite well the dangers of eating conjured food.

He snorted slightly at the thought. Muggles thought those histories were _legends_ or _myths._ Educated, pureblood wizards knew better. It was during that time, the bronze age, which most European pureblood lines could trance their origins to. The blood intermingling between Gods and humans created the wizards. The Malfoys themselves were descended from Aphrodite through Anchises and Aeneas. Draco looked over at Potter, who was eating hungrily, and oddly wondered from whence his line came. While the Evans side of his family had been a Mudblood, the Potter line of wizards was powerful and long. A true pureblood family. His father had a deep and abiding respect for the Potter line, even as he disdained both James and Harry Potter for their political connections. "What are you looking at, Malfoy?" Potter asked. Draco shook his head and looked back down at his plate. He could feel Potter's eyes on him still.

Draco turned to Grethel and Hansel. "Will your... _grandmother_ be joining us?"

In unison, the siblings shook their heads. "No, Grandmother won't join us until later tonight," Hansel answered.

"And what can we expect from her?" Draco continued to probe.

Hansel and Grethel looked at each other, and put their forks down next to their plates. "We shouldn't talk about Grandmother like that. She'll address you personally," Grethel continued coolly. Draco sighed. He should just give up, there was no way he was going to get any information from either of them.

"Fine then. We'll meet her when she shows up," Potter said confidently, taking a voracious bite out of a roll. Draco glared over at him, before leaning over so he could whisper to Potter.

"Potter, we've got to get away from them and talk!" Draco was faintly surprised at himself for ostensibly offering to help Potter. It was one thing to help Potter escape from a room they were both trapped in, but it was another completely to _volunteer_ information to him. The idiot could take care of himself. He'd faced Voldemort and lived twice already during his time at Hogwarts, three if you counted when he was a baby. Draco wasn't sure himself why he was offering information to Potter. He decided to think about the impulse later, and write it off to self-interest. The sooner he got away from Potter, the better off he'd be.

Potter looked over at Draco in confusion, but seemed to sense Draco's urgency, and answered in kind. "But why?"

"Later!" Draco hissed. He turned back to Hansel and Grethel. "Would you please tell us where to find a bathroom?"

Hansel and Grethel shared another look. "But you haven't eaten anything Draco!" Hansel exclaimed, pointing down at his plate.

"Oh, I'm fine, just not very hungry. Actually, it's Potter here needs to use it," Draco pointed his thumb at Potter, who flushed slightly, and shot Draco a dirty look. "But he's terribly bad with directions. Potter's always getting lost back at school, and I feel as if I should go with him to stop him from getting lost."

"You're such a wonderful friend," Potter muttered.

Draco looked over and beamed at him. "Of course I am. The best you've ever had, Potter." Draco didn't bother to hide the sarcasm. Potter snorted.

"Oh, I'd be happy to take Harry if he has a problem with getting lost," Hansel offered.

Draco stiffened slightly, but raised a hand to wave him off. "Oh no, you're still eating. We wouldn't bother you with such a menial task. Just tell us how to get there, and we'll find it and be right back."

Grethel nodded. "Go out that door," she pointed to the door that they had entered from earlier. "Go down the hallway. It should be two doors on your left." Draco stood, and grabbed Potter's arm, pulling him up and towards the door.

"Thanks," Potter said quickly as Draco pulled him into the hallway. Draco, now with a secure hold on Potter starting sprinting down the hallway, forcing Potter to follow him. "Damnit, Malfoy, STOP!" Potter shouted about halfway through the hallway towards the large hole Draco had made earlier. "What the hell are you doing?" He dug his feet in, and forced the pair of them to stop. Draco, not expecting the move, found himself falling backwards into Potter's arms. As soon as he regained his balance, Draco tore himself out of Potter's arms and slammed him against the wall.

"Those, Potter, are _not_ children." With each word, Draco shook Potter's shoulders, forcing him painfully back into the wall.

"W-what?" Potter's utter confusion broke Draco out of his rage, and he sighed lightly, stepping away from the other boy.

"I meant what I said, Potter. Those are not children. Didn't you notice anything about this place?"

"Well, that kitchen did sort of seem like... The Dursleys?"

Draco nodded. "5 points to Gryffindor. The house _wasn't_ a Portkey."

"The house? Malfoy, start from the beginning, then things might begin to make sense!"

Draco sighed loudly again, and ran his hand through his hair. "Look, yesterday at breakfast I received an owl from my Father. He told me he was going to be sending a _gingerbread house_ to me. I was to make sure you had it in your hands at 9am this morning. Father would then arrive in a week to pick up the house. I didn't know what the house did at the time, and I'm still not quite sure what this place is."

Potter cocked his head to the left slightly, studying Draco. "So that's why you started the fight in Care of Magical Creatures, and tried to get away from me as quickly as possible?" Draco nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but Potter cut him off. "But that still doesn't explain why you think those two aren't children." Potter crossed his arms over his chest, obviously demanding an answer.

In any other circumstance, that pose alone would have sent Draco pulse racing and his blood boiling. He just took a quick breath and quietly reminded himself that _this is not the time._ Draco could beat the shit out of Potter for his presumption at some other point in time. Right now, it was best to cooperate until they could figure out the extensiveness of the trap they were caught in. "Look, the house wasn't a Portkey, as I originally guessed. A Portkey takes you to a specific _place._ But this house seems to be made up of several places. **All out of our heads.** That ballroom and the dungeons were from Malfoy Manor. You said the kitchen looked like the one in your Muggle home. Grethel found me in a small bedroom which had a trunk full of _your_ things in it. The only place I can't find some connection with is this hallway!"

"And that makes those two not children... how? Couldn't they be caught in the spell the same way we are?" Potter scowled over at Draco, becoming belligerent.

Draco threw up his arms in the air, trying to battle his frustration. "Potter! By all that's holy! **Listen to me!** Those two know this place well enough to give _directions!_ They aren't trapped here! They're part of this place! And you saw what they did back there! God only knows what their grandmother really is, and I don't intend to stay here and find out!" Draco began quickly walking away from Potter, before turning back. "If you want to stay, be my guest. I'd happily dance on your grave, _Potty._" Draco then continued to walk away. It was better off that way. While Draco still wasn't sure why he had tried to tell Potter in the first place, he'd done his duty. Now Draco was going to do the only intelligent thing, and get the hell away from Potter. The boy was a trouble magnet. Maybe once he was out of Potter's presence, Draco would be able to really _think_ and find a way out of this place.

He heard steps hurrying behind him, and then Draco found himself going flying towards the floor. He quickly rolled, and jumped back to his feet. Potter had knocked him over. "What do you think you're doing, Potter?" Draco hissed, reaching for his wand.

Potter backed off, hands open in front of him. "Look Malfoy, we can't fight right now-"

"A BIT LATE FOR THAT!" Draco shouted, trying to decide if he wanted to hex Potter into oblivion, or just go straight to the Killing Curse.

Potter held out his own wand. "Expelliarmus!" Draco watched his wand go flying into Potter's hand. "Look, I don't want to fight with you again, Malfoy!" Draco strode up to Potter, with his fists clenched, ready to throw a punch. Potter backed up. "Malfoy! Stop it and listen to me!" Draco just smiled, and let loose an uppercut to Potter's chin as hard as he could. Potter stumbled back, and raised his arms to defend any other hits, but didn't make any other moves to retaliate. "Damnit, you prat! Stop fighting me, and work with me! Shut up for a minute, I have a few things to say!" Draco just stared at the other boy, glaring. He bowed sarcastically. Potter snorted and shook his head. "You forgot something, Malfoy. Those kids, while able to give directions, may have just been trapped in here so long that they've found their way around." Potter shrugged uncomfortably.

Draco laughed. "Nice to see you've starting thinking, you idiot! And that doesn't make any bloody sense at all, Potty. How would the children be able to give directions around _our_ heads? How did that little girl know where to find me in this house easily? How the **hell** was she literally able to **drag** me back with her?"

"And how do we know they do?" Potter retorted quickly. "We haven't seen the bathroom, it could be something out _their_ heads."

"Fine then, Potter," Draco spit, giving up completely on the idiot Gryffindor. "Go to the bathroom, then back to the kitchen. As I mentioned earlier, I'd be perfectly happy dancing on your grave. And that's where you're headed!"

Potter laughed harshly. The sound was deep, a bass rather than Potter's usual tenor, scratchy, and full of anger. It was quite unlike anything Draco have ever heard before. He just stared at Potter, attempting to keep his mouth from dropping open as the other boy simply must be going mad. That had to be the result of the gingerbread house, it made the person trapped inside mad. Not that Potter ever needed any help. Draco slowly raised his hand, reaching for his wand that was still in Potter's lightly tanned hand. Abruptly, Potter's laugher cut off. "Tell me your plan, Malfoy." Potter's voice wasn't a request, it was a command.

Potter's declaration made Draco stop advancing on him. "What makes you think I have a plan, Potter?" He asked, surprised.

"Well, you seem to have thought enough to figure out what this place is. It goes to reason that you probably have some plan to get out of here." Potter seemed genuinely curious as he handed Draco's wand back.

Draco felt his rage leave him with Potter's action. "Actually, Potter, the only plan I had was to get the hell away from _them_," Draco cocked his finger towards the kitchen they had left. "And try and stay as far away from them as possible."

Potter grinned. "_If_ they turn out to be dangerous, then it sounds like a pretty good plan to me. Do you want some help thinking us to a safe place?"

Draco stared at him, puzzled. "What?"

Potter's grin widened. "You said this place came out of our heads, right? Well, first stop would be back to my room so I can pickup the Invisibility Cloak and my Firebolt. I'm sure those'll come in handy. Then you can think us to someplace safe."

Draco's mouth just dropped open. Potter was right, and he hadn't thought of it first. Draco clamped his mouth shut with an audible click. "Assuming that you're correct in your guess about this place, why should I should help you, Potter?" He blinked as another thought occurred to him. "Why the hell would _you_ want _me_ to help you? We're not usually very good with the trust issue, are we?"

Potter sighed. "Look, we can go back to sniping and beating each other's brains out _after_ we get out of this mess. And you can _trust me_," Potter said with a sarcastic smile, "that as soon as we get out of here, you and I will be having a long **talk** about delivering objects to unsuspecting people. But we're both stuck here, and as much as I loathe the idea, Malfoy, I somehow get the feeling that we'll need each other here. So for now, let's just have a truce, okay Draco?" Potter stuck out his hand again, and stood there gingerly waiting for Draco's response.

Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter's use of his Christian name and studied the other boy for a few minutes. While Potter normally would be more of a liability than an asset, in this situation, Draco figured he might need the backup. The less time they spent fighting each other, the more time they could spend finding an appropriate bolt hole until he could concoct a _real_ plan to get them out of there. And all Draco had to do was look into Potter's green eyes to see that he meant what he said. He vaguely wondered how long the truce would last before they started hexing each other again. Potter was right, however, it was worth a shot.

Draco ran his hand through his hair. "Oh hell," he muttered, grabbing Potter's hand and shaking it firmly. "Follow me."

* * *

Author's Notes:

Dirumpo: the Latin for _"to tear,"_ or _"to break into pieces."_ Seemed like as good an explosion spell as any.

"This is my boomstick": a quote from the hysterical Sam Raimi movie Evil Dead: Army of Darkness. Ash, the main character, has just defeated a bunch of demons with a gun in front of a primitive audience. He holds up his gun, and shouts, "This is my BOOMSTICK!" That's right, boys and girls, shop smart, shop S-Mart.

Bruce Campbell: the actor who plays Ash in the Evil Dead movies. You might have seen him on Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, or Xena: Warrior Princess. He plays Autolycus. Or if you remember Brisco County Jr, that's him as well. Best forget the existence of Jack of All Trades.

Turkish Delight: a really good sweet. Lovers of C.S. Lewis will remember that Turkish Delight is the sweet the White Queen tempts Edmund with in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.

Persephone: in Greek mythology, Persephone is the daughter of Demeter, the Goddess of the Harvest. She was playing one day in a field, when Hades, the Lord of the Underworld, kidnapped her. He saw her, and fell in love with her beauty. Demeter, when she noticed her daughter missing, grieved so much that winter touched the Earth for the first time. Hades married Persephone, but she wasn't happy in the underworld, and refused to eat the food of the dead. Finally, she became so hungry that she ate the seeds of a pomegranate plant. Demeter found out from a cowherd where Persephone had been taken, and demanded to Zeus that Hades release her. Hades, grumbling about it, reluctantly agreed. It was then discovered that Persephone had eaten the food of the dead. A bargain was struck, and Zeus decreed that Persephone only had to spend one month in the underworld for each seed she had eaten. The months Persephone is away from her mother became winter, and when the daughter returned to the joyful mother is when spring blooms.

Aphrodite: the Greek goddess of Love. Also called the "Sea-born," Aphrodite was the only Olympian God to have neither mother nor father. She rose out of the sea of a cushion of foam, and was so lovely to behold that the Three Graces welcomed her to the shore. Zeus married her off to Hephaestus, but Aphrodite often dallied with Ares as well as numerous mortals. Her one demi-God offspring was Eros (Cupid). Any dalliances with mortals produced incredibly beautiful offspring.

Anchises: a relative of the Trojan Paris (the man who stole Helen and started the Trojan War). Anchises was so good looking that Aphrodite fell in love with him. She took the form of a princess and married Anchises, and produced him a son.

Aeneas: the son of Aphrodite and Anchises. Incredibly handsome and good, fought for the Trojans in the Trojan War. He was the only one to escape the destruction of Troy, and sailed on to various adventures. He eventually found Italy, and founded a kingdom there. According to the legend, Romulus and Remus, the twins who founded Rome, were his descendants. Read Virgil's The Aeneid for more information on Aeneas' adventures.


	3. Opening the Curtains

Remus Lupin stared at Albus Dumbledore in abject shock. "They disappeared? One minute they were there, the next minute they were gone?" he asked flatly. Dumbledore nodded and sighed. He looked older, his hair seemed to have far more gray than silver and there was no sign of any twinkle in his eyes. Remus sat in silence for a few seconds contemplating that, before asking the next obvious question. "Who was the other student?"

Dumbledore seemed to hesitate for a moment before replying. It was enough that even Sirius Black, who was sitting with his head in his hands looked up. "Not Ron? Or Hermione?" Sirius asked, now worried not for just one child, but three.

Dumbledore smiled, trying to put both men at ease. "No, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are both safe in Gryffindor tower. Although, I assume they're trying to sneak out right now to see you two." Sirius' shoulders slumped. Remus cocked his head at his old friend.

All of his life, Remus had believed that the personality of a person was something similar to a house. It was a way to invite people in, or could be a shelter against life. When they were younger, Remus had always thought of Dumbledore as something of a Victorian mansion. On the outside, there was lace and coloring and decks and gables, all very pleasant to the eyes. But inside were long hallways, dark rooms, and infinite possibilities hidden from public view behind that bright exterior. Sirius, on the other hand, had been something of a Tudor style home. The windows were small and narrow so that most people couldn't see inside, but once you got in, the sheer room afforded by the high ceilings could take a visitor's breath away. Sirius didn't let very many people in, but when they did get in, he tended to change his personality to fit those people.

Sirius, while overtly a closed person, needed people; in the same way most humans needed food. He thrived on human contact, something that made him one of the most popular boys in school during their time at Hogwarts. But those few people he let in, and really trusted, Sirius made them the walls and foundation of his house: James, Peter, Lily, Remus himself. Sirius needed to have someone to care for, and be cared by. He had been the worrier of the group then, the fusser, and the mother figure. There had been days when Remus swore that Sirius knew more about healing wounds and tending colds than Madame Pomfrey did. When Peter had betrayed them all, James and Lily had been killed; Remus had scorned Sirius for a murderer...

Well, it seemed as if that lifeline, one of those new walls that Sirius had built up after his escape was crumbling. And the house that Sirius was building wasn't complete; with only Harry, and by extension Harry's friends, Remus, and Dumbledore himself, Sirius still wasn't as balanced as he fully could be. Now with Harry gone missing, it had to be tearing his friend apart. Remus still hated to think of his friend's appearance at Remus's door after Harry had participated in the Triwizard Tournament.

"It was Draco Malfoy," Dumbledore finally answered. "According to all accounts, Mr. Malfoy picked a fight with Harry, and during it, they disappeared."

Sirius looked back up at Dumbledore, and his lip curled. "Malfoy?"

Remus looked back at Dumbledore as well and saw that he still seemed hesitant to answer. "Yes, Sirius, Draco Malfoy is Lucius's son." Sirius's scowl deepened, and his pale eyes burned. He opened his mouth to say something, but Remus cut him off. "Draco takes more after his mother, Narcissa."

"Moony, that was four years ago," Sirius pointed out. He turned back to Dumbledore. "Does he have the Mark?"

"Sirius!" Remus exclaimed, shocked at his friend.

Dumbledore seemed nonplussed by the question. "No, of course not. I would allow no student to stay here if they had the Mark. I've already expelled three."

Sirius nodded. "That means, while Malfoy hasn't been initiated, he is probably spying and running messages for his father and Voldemort," he said disgustedly.

Remus shook his head at his friend's bluntness, but inwardly admitted that Sirius had a point. "What does Severus have to say?" Both Remus and Sirius had been apprised of Severus's return to spying after the Triwizard Tournament and Voldemort's resurrection. Remus himself had been called back to Hogwarts to teach against the protests of many parents and Fudge himself. Surprisingly enough, it had been the students that had given Remus the most support; even the Slytherins had rallied around him. In his more cynical moments Remus wondered if that might have been because they wanted to lure him to their side, what with Werewolves being considered Dark Creatures.

Dumbledore looked vaguely approving at the fact that Sirius was stopping to think, rather than just reacting to the situation. The last time he had simply reacted, Sirius had been put into Azkaban. "Actually, I haven't talked to Severus yet. He should be arriving shortly."

Sirius snorted. "Probably stopped to gloat that Harry was gone," he muttered.

Dumbledore and Remus frowned at Sirius in unison. While the two of them worked together as allies, their rivalry and hatred hadn't stopped. It drove Remus to distraction; he was always called upon to act as a mediator for the pair of them. "Severus was delayed dealing with the other Slytherins, who are understandably concerned by Mr. Malfoy's disappearance. Also, as the Slytherin Head of House, Severus has to owl Lucius Malfoy and inform him of the occurrence." Remus winced, and didn't envy Severus either task. Sirius just snorted and said something under his breath too softly for Remus to catch.

Remus scowled at his friend, and Sirius rolled his eyes. This was far from the first time Sirius and Remus had this discussion. He turned back to Dumbledore. "Will we be working with Severus on this one?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, you will. Remus, I need you to interview all the students in that Care of Magical Creatures class, as well as contact the Slytherins from other years that may know something. See if you can get anything out of them, inadvertent or otherwise. Sirius, I'll need you to patrolling Hogwarts. As of yet, we're still unaware of how the trap was set for them, and I'm afraid other students may be at risk."

Sirius nodded slowly. "For _them?_ Do you actually think the Death Eaters meant to catch the son of Lucius Malfoy?" he snorted, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Even I never thought you were _that_ much of an optimist, Albus."

"You will take that back, Black, and apologize to Albus," a new voice insinuated itself into the conversation. Remus turned around to see Severus Snape glaring harshly at Sirius's back. His normally yellow complexion was a pasty white, his hair greasier than normal, and his left hand seemed to be shaking somewhat.

Remus, absently noting that there were only two chairs besides Dumbledore's, immediately stood up. "Good God, Severus, you look horrible!"

Severus transferred his glare to Remus. "Why thank you for pointing out the obvious, Lupin," he said, his voice a harsh cough as he sat down in the chair.

Dumbledore studied the Potions Master for a few seconds. "I take it Voldemort called a meeting?"

Severus nodded, and grimaced. "Of course. I informed Lucius Malfoy at the meeting."

Remus gasped. "Did he do this to you?" He turned to his briefcase, which was sitting on the floor next to the chair. Remus quickly opened it, and pulled out a bar of chocolate, thrusting it at Severus. "Eat this." Severus rolled his eyes, reminding Remus of Sirius, and Remus frowned at the other man. "Just be glad it's not Madame Pomfrey, Severus. Now **eat the chocolate.**"

Sirius snorted, but otherwise refrained from comment. "What can you tell us, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.

Severus unwrapped the chocolate bar, and took a large bite before answering. "The trap that took Draco and Potter was only for Potter." Sirius coughed at that, sounding suspiciously like he had just barely stopped himself from saying _"I told you so."_ He froze as three glares were instantly trained on him, and Sirius looked genuinely contrite. "All I could find out was that the spell involved... _a gingerbread house._" Severus's voice trailed off and Remus could hear vexed confusion in his tone.

"A what?" Dumbledore said, his eyebrows furrowed.

"A gingerbread house. Draco told me himself yesterday. He said he didn't know what it does either, but that Lucius had wrote him that the trap was activated both by time and physical presence."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Malfoy told you all that?"

Severus snorted. "No, he told me that the house would be activated at 9am. And considering Draco's actions in forcing it to Potter physically, I just made the natural assumptions." Remus still found himself slightly surprised by Severus's attitude. While he still hated Sirius with all of his being, and Harry was high on his hit list as well, over the last three years he had come to accept Remus. He knew Severus still got a good laugh out of the memory of Remus's expression when Severus had apologized for outing him as a werewolf. It had been so unexpected that Remus's jaw had dropped and he'd babbled something incoherently. Severus took one look at his face and had burst into gales of laughter, which only shocked Remus further. Before that point, he had never seen Severus truly laugh before; cackle, yes, laugh, no. While they weren't quite what Remus would term as "friends" by any stretch of the imagination, they were comfortable with each other.

As soon as Sirius had grasped the fact that Remus and Severus were getting along, he had started sulking. Remus had told him flat out that he was having none of it: "Sirius, we have to work with him too often to be constantly at each other's throats." Sirius had reluctantly agreed that whatever made the missions run smoother was a good thing, but he still hadn't started trusting Severus even if he had stopped sniping at him. Of course, those resolutions were usually thrown to the wind if someone Sirius cared about was in danger. Like now. Severus turned to Sirius. "So, any brilliant ideas about what to do now, Black? Think another trip to the Whomping Willow will help?" Remus sighed. It didn't help that Severus used every one of those opportunities to get under Sirius's skin. There were days when he found himself bemusedly wishing that someone would create a spell to force the pair of them to like each other. Of course, you'd probably need a wizard of Merlin's power to get the damn thing to stick.

Sirius bared his teeth at Severus, and opened his mouth to reply. Remus thumped his hand down on Dumbledore's desk, surprising both combatants. "That's _enough!_" he said calmly, now that he had their attention. "We have a problem to work on, **together,** and I for one would appreciate it if we could get back to the matters at hand. Such as where this house might now that the trap has sprung?"

Sirius nodded. "And why the hell you didn't try and prevent it from happening, Snape?" His face was focused and intense. Remus recognized the look from before Azkaban. It was the look on Sirius's face as he went out on assignment: as a Hit Wizard. The man was planning something.

Severus snorted. "And once again you demonstrate why your marks put you near the bottom of our class, Black. I'm a _spy!_ If I interfere, I give away any chance of gathering information!" Severus sneered. "It must kill you, Black, to be depending on me."

Remus slammed his hand down on the table again. "I told you both to stop it," he said harshly. "The next person who ignores that will be taken outside and **talked to.**" Both Sirius and Severus winced a bit at the growl in Remus's voice.

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "I couldn't have put it better myself, Remus," he said mildly. Both Sirius and Severus looked down at the ground, reminding Remus of the guilty students he had in his office just after his Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He pulled out his wand and conjured a third chair. Remus sat down gratefully. "I think this means a change of plans then. Sirius, you'll still be patrolling the grounds. Padfoot's abilities are imminently useful in a situation like this. I want you to start near Hagrid's cottage, where the boys disappeared. See if you can find that house for it; it would certainly provide much needed clues. Remus, I'll need you to talk with the Gryffindors and see if you can get any information out of them. You'll also want to contact Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, and coordinate their information seeking."

Severus looked surprised. "You're going to give them carte blanche to look into this?"

"As you well know, Severus, I have never been one to not utilize an asset. Miss Granger's mind and Mr. Weasley's determination will be two very great assets in a situation like this. Besides, I am not, as you say, giving them 'carte blanche.' Remus will keep them out of trouble." Severus still looked skeptical, but nodded at Dumbledore's explanation. "And Severus, I'm afraid yours will be the hardest task of all. We need more detailed information. Contact Lucius Malfoy." Severus paled slightly, but nodded again.

He stood. "The sooner I do it, the better," Severus muttered. He turned to leave the room. Remus put out a hand to stop him.

"Good luck," he said quietly. "Come back safely, Severus." The other man's brows rose in surprise.

"I didn't expect to hear that sentiment from you, Lupin," he said coolly.

"No more than I ever expected to hear you apologize, Severus. And for the last time, call me Remus." He smiled at the other man, glad to have put a little color in his cheeks. Severus nodded and swept out of the room, his tattered robes billowing after him. It sometimes felt a bit odd to be nice to _Severus Snape_ of all people, but they were on the same side. Remus had learned long a go that a little courtesy and respect could go a long way. And every bit of pride that he had to swallow to be nice to Severus, wish him good luck, tell him to be careful was paid back in full. No one else bothered. Of course, no one else had to take the Wolfsbane Potion once a month, nor had to put up with hissy fits from _both_ Severus and Sirius.

Sirius sighed. "As much as I hate to admit it, I suspect he's right. The sooner we get started, the better." Sirius stood and shifted into his Animagus form.

"Well, Padfoot, do you want to at least come with me to check up on Ron and Hermione?" Remus asked the dog. Sirius barked once in affirmative. Remus turned back to Dumbledore. "I'll return as soon as we know anything, Albus."

"Be sure to give Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley the password to my office. I'll be wanting a chat with them later tomorrow," Dumbledore called out as Sirius and Remus trotted out of his office.

"Right then, Padfoot. To Gryffindor Tower it is," Remus said to the dog, gently patting Sirius's head. The odd pair walked down the hallways towards the Gryffindor Common room, where he suspected Ron and Hermione would be lying in wait for them. He still remembered the first day back at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had reluctantly given permission for Sirius to stay with Remus, ostensibly because he would be more readily available for missions. Remus suspected it had more to do with Harry's state of mind after Cedric Diggory's death. Most of the students had been scared of Remus's new "pet." Neville Longbottom had taken one look at "Snuffles," squeaked "_Grim!_" in a very watery voice, and then passed out. But as time went by most of the students had come to accept "Snuffles" as a part of their life. In fact, he had become a rather valuable asset to Remus's teaching. Casting hexes at poor "Snuffles" gave the students much needed target practice and had the added bonus of keeping Sirius in quite good physical shape. Plus Remus found it hysterically funny. And the expression on Padfoot's face when Neville Longbottom had given him the metal-studded, leather dog collar had been priceless. The only thing that could have made that funnier was if Remus had been able to see the human equivalent of that expression.

As the pair approached the tower, they heard voices. "Damnit, Hermione, you know it's Malfoy's fault!" Sirius and Remus shared a look; the only person that voice could belong to was Ron Weasley.

"We don't know that yet, Ron. Besides, if it was Malfoy's fault that Harry disappeared, would he have been trapped _with_ Harry?" Hermione's prim voice responded reasonably. "Besides, we haven't talked to Professor Lupin or Snuffles yet, I'm sure they have more information than we do."

"When I get a hold of Malfoy..." Ron didn't seem to be listening to Hermione. Their voices drifted closer, and as Remus and Sirius rounded a corner they found themselves face to face with Ron and Hermione. "Professor!" Ron exclaimed. "We were just leaving to see you!"

Remus stared at the two of them, his face wearing a stern look of disapproval. "Of all the times to go wandering the halls after hours, this is _not_ one of them," he stated.

"But Professor Lupin! We just wanted to know about Harry!" Hermione broke in before Ron could respond.

"Let's go to my office and talk there, that way Snuffles can join in." Remus pointed, and Sirius led the way, Ron and Hermione following. Unlike Harry, who would probably never be particularly tall, Ron and Hermione had sprouted up in their fifth and sixth years. Ron was now taller than Remus himself, and Hermione was nearly as tall as Remus. Both of them towered over Harry. Other than that, not much had changed about either of them. Ron was still the most impulsive of the three of them, and ended up with the most detentions of the lot. Hermione still relied more on books for the answers to her questions. Of course, when paired together, they made a formidable team. Ron dragged Hermione's head out of her books, and Hermione tempered Ron's energy with reason. And they had even weathered dating each other and come out of it as friends.

The foursome arrived at Remus's office quickly and entered. As soon as everyone was in, Remus cast a silencing charm on the door, as well as a discreet Noli Perturbare spell that Hermione herself had come up with last year. The spell gave a subtle clue to any visitor that another time might be best to visit. "You've seen Dumbledore then?" Ron asked as Sirius changed back to his human form.

"Yes," Sirius answered. "The Headmaster wants Remus to work with you two to try and see if we can research what happened to them. I'll be patrolling the grounds."

"But Sirius..." Hermione said, looking puzzled. "What _did_ happen to them?"

"As far as we know, Lucius Malfoy instigated the trap using Draco, and -"

"I **told** you, Hermione! Ooh, I'm gonna punch Malfoy so hard..." Ron broke in.

"You'll have to get there before me," Sirius muttered. Hermione shot him a surprised look, but it seemed as if Ron didn't hear.

"Ron, Draco Malfoy is trapped in there just like Harry. And from what we can piece together, Malfoy didn't know what it did either. He was just the delivery boy," Remus said firmly. He knew he wasn't going to break Ron of his prejudice against the Malfoys, and to be honest with himself, Remus wasn't sure if he _wanted_ to. It was just like Sirius and Severus all over again, and regardless of how Remus felt about Lucius or Draco Malfoy, he refused to let any hatreds or prejudices, no matter whose, get in the way of helping Harry. "Now the spell catalyst was a gingerbread house. Considering the spells around Harry, it cannot have been a Portkey. The spell was both time and physically based."

Hermione nodded slightly, as if she was confirming something to herself. "I did think it was odd that Malfoy started that fight this morning. He doesn't usually jump into physical fights." She shot a glance at Ron, and Remus fought a smile as he followed her train of thought. Generally if anything physical happened with Malfoy, it was _Ron_ who initiated the fight. Malfoy, like most cowards, seemed to only pick fights with words, and even then only when he was certain he had an advantage. "And I remember as soon as Harry was on the ground, Malfoy shoved something into his hands." Her brow furled slightly as she thought. "But I've never heard of a physical object being a spell catalyst for anything but a Portkey or a Potion."

Sirius smiled at her. "Well, that's why Dumbledore has enlisted you three to figure it out. You're the brains of the bunch." Both Ron and Hermione sat up a little bit straighter at the praise, and some of the worry left their eyes. Remus mentally congratulated his friend. "But, you'll not be starting today. It's quite a bit past curfew."

Ron groaned. "Coming from you, I take that with a grain of salt."

"He's right, Ron. I'll walk you back to the Tower, and we can start work in the morning. Just try not to miss too many classes?" Remus said, also smiling at them. He and Sirius stood in unison, trying to give both Ron and Hermione a far more forceful hint that their particular talents wouldn't be needed until morning. Besides, Remus could imagine the sort of fretting both of them had been doing all day, ever since Care of Magical Creatures.

It was sort of funny, Remus thought some days, the way they had turned out. While in their third year, he had of course seen Hermione's potential, and judged her chances of becoming Head Girl of Hogwarts as quite high. And as he predicted early on that year, she was Head Girl, and quite good at it. Her maturity and cool reason brought intense fairness to the position. Even the Slytherins respected her because Hermione did not take away points or punish people unless they deserved it. Perhaps the only people she really turned a blind eye too were Ron and Harry, and since Hermione was usually caught up in those adventures with them, it was something of a moot point.

Ron, on the other hand, was something of a surprise. Harry, in his fifth year, had been offered the places of Gryffindor Prefect, as well as Quidditch Captain. To the surprise and disappointment of many, Harry had turned down both positions. Later, in private, Harry had confessed to Sirius and Remus that he had turned down the positions for two reasons. First, he hated the attention with a passion, too many years of avoiding attention at the Dursleys had sunk into Harry. Second, he wanted to use the time freed up to train. As much as Harry hated it, he knew that the entire Wizarding World was pinning their hopes on him. It wasn't fair, but that was the way things were. Not to mention Voldemort's personal enmity. Well, Harry had wanted to be prepared. So, McGonagall had made Fred and George Weasley co-captains of the Quidditch team, and had offered the Prefect position to Ron instead. The arrangement seemed to benefit everyone, as long as Hermione was around to remind Ron not to let the power go to his head. The Quidditch team, however, suffered a little. Having to replace three Chasers and the Keeper had meant their performance suffered slightly as the new team members were broken in. Ron, to his frustration, hadn't made the cut then, nor in his sixth year as tryouts were held to replace his elder brothers. Remus often wondered if Ron was still bitter about that disappointment.

"Do we really have to?" Ron asked plaintively. "I mean, we could do rounds with you, Sirius!"

Both Remus and Sirius frowned. "No," Sirius answered quickly.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, and Remus suspected that they were planning something. "There might be other traps," Remus explained. "The son of Arthur Weasley and the Muggle-born Head Girl of Hogwarts, both who happen to be the best friends of Harry Potter, would be a great catch indeed." Ron and Hermione looked at each other again, and Remus saw Hermione give a slight nod. He smiled inwardly, it was good to know that the one who did the most thinking was the one who wore the pants in the relationship.

"You'll wake us early?" Hermione asked, biting her lip.

Remus nodded and smiled reassuringly. "Of course. Before the sunrise even."

Ron looked pained. "It doesn't have to be quite _that_ early."

Remus laughed. "All right then, I'll come for you both before breakfast. We'll bring the food here, and Ron and I will start with the books on hand. Hermione, you'll -"

"Go to the library!" Ron and Hermione broke chorused in unison, smiling wryly.

"I see you've heard that one before," Remus snorted. Sirius laughed, transformed once again into Snuffles, and led the way back to Gryffindor Tower.

"Professor Lupin?" Ron asked. "Will you be wanting to talk to the rest of the Gryffindors tomorrow morning as well?"

Remus nodded, finding himself surprised by Ron's astuteness. "Yes, actually. I'll want to speak to each of them alone. How many were actually there?"

"Well, all of the 7th year Gryffindors take Care of Magical Creatures, since it's still a required subject," Hermione said. "So, eight of us, including Harry."

"That'd be," Remus said, ticking them off on his fingers, "you, Ron, Harry, Seamus, Dean, Neville, Parvati, and Lavender, correct?"

Ron and Hermione nodded. "Who were the closest to the fight?"

"Us, of course," Ron said. "The really odd thing was that Crabbe and Goyle didn't jump into help Malfoy."

"That's right," Hermione chimed in, looking puzzled. "Usually they follow him around like a dog, but this time they seemed to be doing everything they could to distance themselves from the fight. They must have known something in advance."

Remus nodded. "Perhaps. We'll see in the morning." They had arrived back at the Tower, and Sirius barked his farewell before trotting off.

Ron watched him walk away, a strange expression on his face. Hermione said the password to the portrait of the Fat Lady, and she sleepily swung open. "Coming Ron?"

Ron nodded. "In a minute." Hermione rolled her eyes, but stepped inside Gryffindor Tower without a word. Ron turned back to Remus. "Any word on Wormtail?" he asked quietly.

Remus sighed and shook his head. "No. They raided the Pettigrew home again last month, but found nothing. All the known Death Eater retreats are closely monitored. Voldemort has found a new hiding place, and it seems the Ministry hasn't a clue where to look."

Ron sighed. "It worries Harry quite a bit, you know? He just feels guilty that everyone tries so hard to protect him. Hell, Harry even feels bad for _Snape._"

Remus smiled. "That's part of what makes Harry Harry. And even _Professor_ Snape has redeeming qualities, Ron." Ron snorted and looked skeptical. "We'll talk more in the morning, all right? I think the Fat Lady is getting annoyed with us." Remus pointed up at the portrait, which was starting look exasperated.

Ron nodded, and stepped inside. "I'll see you in the morning, Professor Lupin."

Remus smiled. "Oh and Ron?" Ron turned back. "The Headmaster wanted me to give you his password. After we meet in the morning, you two will want to go to talk to him. The password's 'canary creams.'" Ron laughed, shaking his head as the Fat Lady swung closed, and Remus stood there for a few moments, just remembering.

_ "C'mon Remus, hurry up, or we'll be late!" _

"Oh James," he sighed quietly before turning around and walking away. Remus headed back to his office and immediately reached for one of the few things he had kept from the time James and Lily were killed: Peter Pettigrew's journal. He had kept it as a memento of a lost friend, along with James's broomstick, and a locket that James had given to Lily. He had hidden it to keep it out of the Ministry's hands. Anything of Sirius's Remus had at that time, he had burned. The three items had been packed away in storage for much of the last sixteen years, and Remus had all but forgotten about them. Three months ago, when he had visited the Muggle storage facility to pay for another year of its use, he had decided to inspect the boxes and found the journal. Much of it was in code, but Remus had spent the last few months trying to break the code in hope that it might provide clues to Death Eater hiding spots that the Ministry didn't know about. Not to mention the reason why Voldemort had entered the Potter household with the intent to kill Harry.

While it was obvious that Voldemort's caution had proven true, Harry _was_ a threat, Remus desperately wanted to know _why._ Why was Harry of all people so important? How could a one-year old child break Voldemort's power? And most importantly of all, _how did Voldemort know about the threat?_ Remus suspected that Dumbledore knew more than he was saying on the topic, but every time he had questioned the elder wizard, Remus had received the same answer: _"When Harry himself is ready for the answer to that question, he will be the one to tell you."_ The answer never failed to irritate Remus who believed that information should be shared. He did understand where Dumbledore was coming from; theoretically, all information _could_ be shared. But sometimes, and Remus assumed this was one of those times, it was just too damn dangerous for people to know. If Harry knew the reason Voldemort wanted to kill him, it would put him at even greater risk. If the Wizarding World as a whole knew the reason Voldemort wanted to kill Harry, then the poor child would have been at risk not only from Voldemort, but also people who wanted to take advantage of whatever natural gift Harry had. It was sad; Harry would never be able to escape the fame. Or the burden. Remus was afraid that even if Voldemort was vanquished, someone else would come along, start terrorizing the Wizarding World, and Harry would be dragged back into the spotlight to deal with them.

Despite this, Remus was constantly amazed by Harry's lack of bitterness. True, Harry hated the way the situation forced him to lead and be in the spotlight, but except for a few notable occasions, Harry accepted the burden with unconscious grace. That had to come from Lily. Remus smiled a bit at the thought. Lily's charisma drew the camera's eye to her, where James, on the other hand, had always mugged for attention.

Remus dragged himself out of his thoughts and sat down at his desk, pulling out his notes. Cyphering had never really been his skill. Oddly enough, it was Peter himself that had musical talent of the bunch. The Ministry had used him as a code-breaker during the war against Voldemort, which explained how so many raids got fouled. Peter knew the codes the Ministry used; he had _wrote_ them. "Hindsight is ever perfect," Remus muttered to himself, looking back down at the journal. He stared at the dates, before paging ahead to around the days that James and Lily had gone into hiding. Remus figured that the most useful information would be there. Finally stopping at October 29th, Remus stared at his notes. He'd already discovered that the letter J had been dropped from every page in the journal, which was something of a telling sign. He stared at the few lines on the page, the last Peter had ever written:

uydrg  
vleen  
aispi  
kihgf  
bazyx  
dcbaz  
dlaed  
ateei  
kulkh  
lkihg  
xwvst  
tsrqp  
iopte  
nbden  
iarro  
bazyx  
cbazy  
acbaz  
srocg  
sele  
adks  
nmlb  
kihe  
rdcd  
rnra  
aoaz  
pwdc  
f  
m

"Damnit Peter, how the hell could you write like this?" Remus growled to himself, not for the first time since finding the journal. He stared at it, looking for patterns. Remus blinked, as he finally noticed something. Every other three letters were in alphabetical order when read horizontally. "Those must be nonsense letters," he muttered. "Thank God I noticed this _now._" Crossing off every other three letters still didn't seem to make any sense. Remus pulled out a clean sheet of paper, and wrote both sets of letters out. "Wait a minute, it's backwards." The cypher was read from bottom to top, and left to right. "Gone in hiding. Made secret keeper. Dark Lord pleased. Wonder about Lily. Parassinikadavu." Remus stared at the last word. "Bugger. What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" He silently thanked his good luck on finally being able to break the code rather fortuitously. Remus just hoped this lucky break at the beginning of the investigation wouldn't spell trouble later on down the road.

Remus stood and stretched. He'd have to talk to Dumbledore about this. The sooner, the better. He grabbed the journal and his notes, and for the second time that night, left his office and headed towards the Headmaster's office. He gave the password, and walked back in. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, responding to an Owl. He looked up, surprised. "I didn't expect you back tonight, Remus?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Albus, but I have information." Remus sat down in the chair directly in front of Dumbledore and laid the journal on Dumbledore's desk.

"Is this what I think it is?" Dumbledore gingerly picked up the journal, and examined it.

"Yes, Albus."

"Why didn't you bring this to me sooner?"

"Well, I," Remus stuttered, looking down. He felt guilty; this was the second time he had withheld vital information from Dumbledore. "I only found it three months ago. And I wasn't able to crack the cypher until tonight." Remus pushed the translation of the last entry over to Dumbledore. "That's from October 29th."

"Parassinikadavu?" Dumbledore sounded puzzled.

Remus shrugged. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"How much of the journal have you read?"

"Just that night's entry. I brought it to you as soon as I cracked the cypher. You know I was never very good with these things. Do you want me to decode the rest of it tonight?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I'll check with Severus in the morning to see if 'Parassinikadavu' means anything to him." He handed the journal and notes back to Remus. "Bring a full translation to me in the morning."

Remus nodded and stood. "Albus? Do you know if Severus has talked to any of the Slytherins about the spell yet?"

Dumbledore tapped his fingers on the desk in thought. "I don't know. I assume if he hasn't already, he will in the morning. His timing must have been thrown off a bit by the unexpected meeting."

Remus scowled. "I wonder if anyone beyond Lucius Malfoy knew about the plan?" He shook his head. "But never mind. If you see him before he talks to his Slytherins, you might suggest he ask them as well."

Dumbledore smiled. "Quite right. They hear and know far more than we ever give them credit for. I'll tell him that." Remus nodded and left the room, recognizing a dismissal when he heard it. He desperately needed a drink. It was going to be a long night with an old friend.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Noli Perturbare: roughly, "_do not disturb_," in Latin.

8 Gryffindors: That's the exact number of named Gryffindors in Harry's year. Presumably there are more, but since none of them are ever named that I can find, I'm sticking with this number.

Musical talent: the best natural code-breakers usually have musical talent. Or sometimes the other way around. For example, Musicians such as Robert Schumann or Johann Sebastian Bach used cyphers to help compose their music. It seems that the mathematical centers in the brain are quite often linked with the portions of the brain that dole out musical talent.


	4. Airing Out The Rooms

Morning came bright, early, and painfully unforgiving to Remus. He had spent most of the night decoding Peter's journal completely. The process might have gone a bit faster if he hadn't felt the need to delve into his stash of brandy that Harry had given him on his last birthday. Harry had just smiled sweetly at Remus when he had asked the teen how he had gotten the liquor. The expression was just so _James_ that Remus had burst into laughter, and thanked Harry for the present. Remus figured that Sirius had given Harry the relevant details about the brand he liked, because _he_ certainly couldn't recall ever mentioning his love for Slivovitz in front of Harry or his friends.

Remus finally finished the journal at around four in the morning. Remembering his promise to Ron and Hermione, he had set his alarm to wake him three hours later. Groggy, still slightly drunk, and distinctly grumpy, Remus decided to make a pit stop at Severus's dungeons before heading up to turn in his "translation" to Albus. He just prayed that the dour Potions Master would have a few things on hand to help him sober up; or at the very least, a Pepperup or Wit-Sharpening Potion.

He quickly got dressed and headed down to the dungeons. Making the stop would also allow him to check with Severus about some of the things he had uncovered in Peter's journal. While most of the journal was a simple diary of the day to day events of Peter's life, _I went to work, I came home, I ate, I went to bed_; there had been a few entries about the activities of the Death Eaters. Remus had been surprised to find out that Peter had only been initiated a month before Lily and James' deaths. He idly wondered if giving James and Lily to Voldemort was Peter's way of thanking the Dark Lord for accepting him. Nothing in the journal mentioned Harry, per se, but there was one entry that Remus had found interesting. It was from the day that Peter had told Voldemort he might possibly become the Potter's Secret Keeper.

_ I mentioned to the Dark Lord that the Potters were considering a Secret Keeper, and that I was one of their options. He was extremely pleased. But most of his questions about their situation resolved around Harry. I wonder if the Dark Lord wants to take Harry and raise him? I just hope I don't fail when the time comes. _

Remus shuddered at the thought of a wizard of Harry's magnitude in the hands of Voldemort, raised by Voldemort, Voldemort's right hand man. It was a truly terrifying thought. The Wizarding World would most certainly be crushed in his hands, and god knows what the Muggle world would be like.

Remus reached Severus's office and gave a start. He opened the door, and Severus frowned at the expression on Remus's face. "Severus," Remus said slowly, almost afraid that he would give form to his fear by saying it aloud, "could it be possible that this trap is not to kill Harry, but to _use_ him?"

The other man studied Remus thoughtfully, waving him towards a chair. He absently rummaged through a desk drawer, finding what he was seeking through sheer habit rather than eyesight. Remus suspected that nothing was ever out of place at Severus Snape's desk. He pulled out a small potion bottom and tossed it at Remus. "Hangover cure," he explained. "Now start at the beginning."

"Three months ago, I found Peter Pettigrew's journal." Severus's eyebrow shot up instantly, and Remus vaguely found himself wondering how the hell the other man did that? Did he practice in the mirror? "It was written in code. I managed to figure it out last night. There's an entry that worried me. It just made me wonder if Voldemort hadn't found another use for Harry."

"Well, I'm sure if there was a way to funnel Potter's power, Lucius Malfoy would find it," Severus returned spitefully. Remus nodded, and winced as his head felt like it was going to explode. He uncorked the bottle, and swiftly downed the contents. "Should take about 15 minutes to start working," Severus continued.

"That would certainly explain why they used an object to trigger the trap," Remus mused. "If it's not so much a trap for Harry himself, but more his power, I mean." He pursed his lips, thinking. In some ways, it was a shame that he and Severus had never been friends while at school. Severus, because of his upbringing, and Remus, because of what he was, shared an immense amount of sheer knowledge about the Dark Arts. He shook his head. "I'd have to do some research, I'm afraid I've gotten rusty on Dark Power Siphons," he snorted. Severus cracked a small grin at the sarcasm.

"It seems the potion is taking effect sooner than I thought." Remus nodded again, this time without the painful throbbing. "I don't know much about that area either," Severus continued. "Most of the Dark Arts is aimed towards controlling another's will, and by extension, their power."

"Or killing them," Remus finished the thought sourly. "Severus," Remus reached into his robes and pulled out the piece of paper with Peter's word written on it. He pushed the paper over Severus's desk to the other man. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Severus picked up the piece of paper, studied it, and Remus could almost see the spark of recognition. Severus's dark eyes widened, and his mouth dropped out of its usual sneer. He leaned forward. "Where did you hear this?" Severus hissed.

Remus blinked. "It was in Peter's journal. From October 29th." Severus's breath let out in a short gasp, and he slumped down in his chair. "What does it mean?"

"Parassinikadavu was one of the places Voldemort visited to study. It was also became a code word used by the inner circle. I never knew what it meant, I wasn't that far on the inside."

"Who would know?"

Severus shrugged slightly. "The Lestranges. Lucius Malfoy. Crouch. I'm sure there are others, but not having _been_ there, I can't say for sure."

"Do you think you could find out more from Malfoy?" Remus asked after a few moments. Severus scowled and nodded.

"Since his precious baby boy is trapped in there as well, I probably can." His scowl grew darker.

Remus cocked his head at his friend as a new thought occurred to him. "Can you do it without extreme bodily harm?"

Severus shook his head. "I doubt it."

The pair sat in silence considering. "If we brought him along, could you give the coordinates of this place to Sirius?" Severus cocked an eyebrow at Remus. "He's the only one of us who can Apparate there and do some research." Severus nodded.

"Speaking of Black, I wonder if he found that gingerbread house. I couldn't sleep last night, so I spent the time brewing different types of revealing potions."

Remus shook his head, a half smile on his face. He stood. "Thanks for the potion, Severus. We should probably get started. Would you want to come with me?"

Severus sneered. "And voluntarily spend more time in Black's company? Please. I thought you counted my intelligence higher than that. Of course, he's probably rubbing off you."

"Even for you, Severus, that one was a little weak," Remus retorted smoothly. He waved, and trotted out of the office. Next was Albus, then to find Sirius, and finally, to Gryffindor Tower. Remus wasn't sure which meeting he was dreading the most.

"Ah! Professor Lupin!" Remus turned at the sound of a female voice. A redheaded blur rushed towards him. It was Ginny Weasley.

"What can I do for you, Miss Weasley?" He asked pleasantly, if a little impatiently.

She shuffled a bit. "Sir, I wanted to ask if you knew anything about Harry yet." Remus found himself vaguely amused; the girl blushed as she pronounced Harry's name in a worshipful tone. He had heard from Minerva about her Valentine's during her first year. The crush still hadn't faded. Remus figured it was probably bolstered by Harry's rescue of her back then. He frankly thought they'd make a cute couple. Harry seemed to feel otherwise. _"The way the Weasleys have adopted me, it'd be like kissing my own sister."_ Remus's smile dropped as he remembered Harry's next words. He had dropped his gaze to the ground and mumbled something about "safety."

"No, Miss Weasley. We don't know anything yet," he said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. Weasley bit her lip and chewed it a bit. "I'm sure, wherever Harry is, he's fine."

"But sir," Weasley said, haltingly.

"I'm very sorry, Ginny," he said, addressing her more personally. Remus put his hand lightly on her shoulder. "I know you're worried. We're doing everything we can to bring them back." He squeezed her shoulder. "We _will_ bring him back."

She nodded and smiled nervously. "Yes, sir." Remus let her go, and she walked off. Remus frowned at her back before continuing on his way to Albus's office. Ginny Weasley was something of a puzzle. Where every other Weasley Remus had ever met was outstanding in one way or another, Ginny was frightfully average. Her grades put her in the exact middle of the class; she rarely volunteered information in classes unless called upon. She seemed quieter than Remus remembered her from her second year. Not really more introspective, just more distant. It was slightly odd; Remus was far more used to seeing the redheaded Weasleys in the middle of things, rather than watching from outside. But it was a puzzle for another day.

Remus reached the Headmaster's office, gave the password and walked in. "Albus?" The office was empty. Remus just shrugged slightly, placed his notes on the Headmaster's desk, and walked out. He was secretly glad Albus wasn't in at the moment, Remus felt dreadfully behind on his errands. "And I still have to teach today," he groaned. He looked around the empty hallway before pulling out his wand. "Quaerito Sirius!" he muttered, casting a seeking charm on the other man.

Following where his wand led him, Remus quickly found Sirius sleeping in the room Albus had given him. He was curled up, still in his dog form, with his tail lying over his head. Remus smiled briefly at the sight before walking up to Sirius cautiously. He knew that Sirius still felt more secure as a dog than he did as a man. A dog's life was far less complicated, and Sirius wasn't as affected by the Dementors while a dog either. Plus he had a vicious bite. Usually used when someone was trying to wake him up. "Sirius?" Remus asked loudly, very carefully not touching his friend. "Sirius, wake up." Sirius didn't move. Remus sighed and pulled out his wand. He gestured, and a loud boom echoed through the room. Sirius woke up with a start, tail pointed, and the hackles rising on the back of his neck. Remus smiled at him as sweetly as possible, and Sirius growled. "C'mon Sirius, we have work to do," Remus said.

Sirius changed back into his human form and glared at Remus. "You didn't have to use a bang to wake me up, Moony. I thought it was another attack. Just shake my shoulder or something, will you?"

Remus was torn between amusement and shame. "You're right, and I'm sorry. I'll use a klaxon next time." Sirius's glare increased. "Last time I shook you awake while you were Snuffles, you bit me." Sirius was the only person who could manage to look abashed and pissed off at the same time. "But we do have work to do." Sirius nodded, and quickly pulled on his robes.

"Will you grab the house, Moony? It's sitting on the desk over there," Sirius gestured as he fumbled around looking for his wand.

"Have you touched it?" Remus asked as he walked over to the desk. On it was sitting a very small gingerbread house. He raised his wand. "Finite Incantatum," he muttered at it. The spell flashed, showing that there were spells on it, but nothing overtly changed.

"No, of course not. I'll leave that to the experts." Sirius answered, coming up next to Remus. He stared at the house intensely. "I just hope Harry's all right." Remus said nothing. There was nothing to say. Sirius looked over at Remus. "Let's go." Sirius put on the dragon-hide glove and grabbed the house carefully.

"Who are you going to take it to?" Remus asked.

Sirius shrugged. "Dumbledore, I suppose. He can pass it on."

Remus stared at his friend for a minute. "And you're just going to walk up to his office and give it to him?" Sirius looked confused. "Snuffles?"

"Oh," Sirius laughed for the first time since the whole ordeal had started. "That." He reached onto the desk and grabbed a cloak. "Dumbledore loaned me Harry's Invisibility Cloak." He pulled it on awkwardly, leaving his head exposed. Remus reached out to help. "He figures that I'll be more useful as both Sirius and Padfoot."

"He's right. Be careful, will you?" Remus replied.

Sirius nodded. "I'm always careful."

Remus laughed. "Liar," Sirius smiled, pulled the cloak over his head. Remus could hear his steps out of the room. He shook his head at his friend, and moved onto his next, and possibly hardest, errand: Ron and Hermione.

Remus hurried towards Gryffindor Tower and gave the Fat Lady the password. She opened up, and he stepped into the brightly lit common room. Unexpectedly, it wasn't empty. Neville Longbottom was sitting in a chair next to the fire, scribbling on a piece of parchment. He looked up at Remus's approach, and smiled slightly. "Professor Lupin? What are you doing here?"

"I've come to get Ron and Hermione, Neville. We're working on a project this morning before breakfast," Remus said politely.

"Is it about Harry?" Neville asked. Remus nodded in reply. "Oh good, then I can just give this to you then," Neville continued, handing the piece of parchment to Remus. He took it, surprised, and looked at Neville inquiringly. Neville blushed. "You know I'm good at Herbology, right, Professor?"

Remus smiled. "Of course, Neville. Professor Sprout says you're her favorite student, and one of the best Herbologists-in-the-making she's ever had the pleasure to teach." As Neville's blush started to put the fire to shame, Remus wondered if he'd been a little over-enthusiastic at relaying Sprout's words from their last faculty meeting.

"Well - uh - I..." Neville stuttered, his hands wringing together nervously. He took a deep breath, and the blush faded away. "Well, I was in Care of Magical Creatures yesterday morning when Harry and Malfoy..." He paused, and seemed to be searching for the right words.

"Disappeared?" Remus suggested.

Neville nodded. "Yes, disappeared. I just happened to notice that when they were fighting, the pair of them landed in a small patch of Protean Flowers. They're almost indistinguishable from common Muggle dandelions, which is probably why Hagrid hasn't gotten rid of them yet," he paused for a breath. Remus nodded encouragingly. Like Ginny Weasley, it was rare for Neville to ever volunteer information, even to Remus who did his best to encourage the shy boy. While Neville wasn't as bad off as he was four years ago, he still had problems. Neville seemed to have come to terms with his parents, who were still in St. Mungos. Rather than burying the talent everyone knew he had, Neville seemed to have realized that a life lived through fear wasn't really living. "The Protean Flowers tend to take on the magical properties of anything that touches them. If you harvest them correctly, you might be able to learn a little bit about what caused them to disappear."

Remus beamed at Neville. "I take it these are instructions on where to find the flowers and how to harvest them?"

Neville nodded. "I was going to tell Professor Sprout, but I know she's very busy with classes on Tuesdays and didn't know if she would have time to Harvest them before the effect fades. So I wrote out the instructions in case someone else decided to try," he blushed again.

"Neville, I'm extremely grateful. 25 points to Gryffindor for noticing what everyone else missed." Neville's jaw dropped in shock. While not as clumsy as he used to be, the boy was far more used to _losing_ points for Gryffindor, rather than _gaining_ them. And he'd _never_ gained such a large amount.

"I'm just happy to be able to help Harry, Professor Lupin," Neville said after the shock had passed.

"We all are, Neville. Thank you very much, I'll pass this along to Professor Snape as soon as I'm able." Neville nodded. "Would you be willing to wake Ron for me, while I go and get Hermione?"

"Certainly Professor!" Neville exclaimed, jumping up and running towards to the dorm. Remus watched him go with a smile before heading up the stairs to the girl's dorm. He stopped at the door marked "7th Years," and knocked. Almost immediately, the door opened quietly and Hermione stepped out. She was fully dressed and was carrying books in her hands.

"Hello, Professor," she said quietly. Hermione seemed to be fighting to carry all the books without dropping them and close the door without waking the other girls. Remus grabbed the top bunch of books, making Hermione's load more manageable.

Together they carried the books down to the common room. Remus placed his load on a nearby table, and watched Hermione shove as many books as she could into a large bag. "Please tell me you weren't up all night researching, Hermione?" he finally asked with in a pained voice.

Hermione looked up at Remus in surprise. "No, Professor Lupin. I'll admit that I wanted to, but I just couldn't stay awake," she replied sheepishly, shrugging slightly. Remus, slightly surprised by her answer, studied her closely. Hermione wasn't lying. There were no ink stains on her fingers, she was looking directly at him, and there were no circles under her eyes. He idly wondered if Ron had been partially responsible for this.

"Good, you'll need all the sleep you can get," Remus replied, knowing full well that Hermione would not drop any of her activities as a tutor, Head Girl, or student while trying to help Harry. Hermione smiled slightly.

"Too early," a voice groaned down the stairs. Ron stumbled into the common room, followed by Neville. Ron's robes we on backwards, and he was rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Ron!" Hermione sighed. "Just think about Harry! He could be dead right now!" Hermione gasped at her own words, as if the concept had just occurred to her.

Ron smiled weakly and Neville flinched. "He's not dead, Hermione. Harry can give You-Know-Who a beating any day of the week," Ron said quietly but with feeling. The scene made Remus slightly nostalgic for his own days at Hogwarts and the three best friends he ever had.

"Don't dwell on what might happen, Hermione," Neville piped in unexpectedly. Remus nodded at him approvingly.

Ron laughed suddenly. "Hermione, just remember: _there's no wood._" Hermione gaped at Ron before joining in his laughter. Neville and Remus shared a curious glance. Ron yawned a bit before continuing. "So, to the library?"

"Yes, if you're ready. We could stop by the kitchens and ask the house-elves for a sandwich, or some breakfast first, if you'd like?" Remus offered.

Ron's stomach growled at the mention of food, and he nodded, grinning. Hermione pursed her lips in a disapproving fashion. The trio waved goodbye to Neville and trooped out of the room. "What exactly do you have in those books, Hermione?" Remus gestured to the bag that Hermione was carrying. He suspected the bag was enchanted to be larger than it looked; there was no way Hermione could fit nearly twenty-five books into that bag.

"About half are for the Potions essay that Professor Snape assigned us last week, I need to return them to the library now that I've finished the essay."

"But Hermione," Ron cried in a dismayed voice, "that essay isn't due for another _month!_"

"Not all of us like to wait for the last minute, Ron!" Hermione scolded back. Remus just watched the argument in amusement. It quite reminded him of many arguments that he and Sirius would have. Sirius always was the studious one of the bunch, far too intelligent and curious for his own good. Many a student at Hogwarts had wondered why Sirius Black had ended up in Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw.

"And the rest of the books?" Remus asked, hoping to forestall an argument.

"I snuck up to the library after dinner yesterday and looked up various books that dealt with mysterious disappearances," Hermione answered. Ron rolled his eyes and snorted.

"Did you find anything that might be relevant?" Remus asked curiously. It would be truly lucky if Hermione had found something without knowing even the small details they knew now.

Hermione shook her head. "I did find quite a few references to disappearances being blamed on Voldemort making snakes eat people, but nothing related to this."

Remus felt himself smirk. "Well, we can definitely say that a snake was not responsible for this." The three walked in silence for a few minutes through the castle until they came upon the kitchens. Ron tickled the fruit, and the door opened.

"Harry Potter's Wheezy!" The high-picked, squeaky sound of a house-elf's voice screeched out over the sounds of hundreds of house-elves working.

Ron smiled widely as the owner of the voice popped over. "Hey Dobby!"

"How is Harry Potter's Wheezy doing?" the little house-elf asked. It seemed to be wearing a bright orange sweater, and a pair of grimy, large white socks. Remus just raised an eyebrow, and decided not to comment.

"I'm fine Dobby, but do you think we could get some breakfast?" Ron asked. Within seconds of this request, nearly ten house-elves appeared with a cart containing a selection of food. Remus and Hermione each took a few pieces of toast. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to be helping himself to porridge, waffles, and a large cup of hot chocolate. He noticed the looks Remus and Hermione were giving him. "What? I'm a growing boy!"

"Why don't you join us in the library when you've finished Ron?" Remus suggested mildly, trying not to smile at Hermione's muttered _"that'll be in the next century."_ Ron nodded enthusiastically in response, unable to answer around a large biscuit. He either didn't hear Hermione, or was successfully ignoring her. Remus and Hermione shared a look, and walked out of the kitchens.

"Goodbye Dobby! Say hello to Winky for me," Hermione shot over her shoulder as they exited.

"Might I ask what exactly is a Wheezy? And why that house-elf seems to idolize Harry?" Remus asked quietly, trying to hide a grin.

Hermione burst into laughter. "Well, that's Dobby. He used to be Malfoy's house-elf."

"_Malfoy's?_" Remus broke in, aghast. "How ever did he end up here?"

"Harry tricked Lucius Malfoy into giving Dobby clothes back in our second year," she replied smugly. Remus stopped dead in his tracks.

"Harry, as a _twelve-year-old,_ tricked _**Lucius Malfoy**_?" Hermione took one look at the expression on Remus's face and burst into laughter again. "My, I have missed a lot," Remus said, still shocked. He knew what Harry was capable of, but Lucius Malfoy? At _twelve_? He grinned at Hermione. "Does Snuffles know?"

Hermione's brow furled in thought. "I'm sure he knows about the Chamber of Secrets, but I doubt anyone would have bothered to tell him about Dobby," she finally said, matter-of-factly.

"I'll have to make him sit down with Harry and tell us the whole story on that one," Remus laughed. "Padfoot hated Lucius Malfoy in school even more than he hated Severus."

"Professor?" Hermione's face had lost all mirth, and she seemed to be holding back sobs. Remus guessed that the situation was finally hitting her. But even during third year, when supposed serial killer, Sirius Black, had confronted them Hermione hadn't lost her cool like this. "Do you think we'll get Harry back?"

"I'm sure Harry and Mr. Malfoy are perfectly all right, and will stay that way until we can retrieve them. In fact, I'll bet they might even be able to escape on their own." Hermione nodded at his answer and quickly took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. "Is there something else bothering you, Hermione?"

Hermione went white around the mouth and tensed, confirming Remus's suspicion. "I'm sorry Professor Lupin, but I can't tell you." Remus nodded, vaguely wondering if she didn't want to talk because he was an authority figure or because she wasn't ready to deal with the issues yet. Hermione had a truly astonishing brain, it put Sirius to the test most days, but she was still only a seventeen-year old girl when everything was said and done. She was taking nearly as many subjects this year as she was in third year, plus her duties as Head Girl, making sure Ron didn't fail, her boyfriend Neville, researching for Dumbledore, and helping Harry fend off Voldemort's various attacks, Remus supposed her schedule was fairly full. This could just be a stress attack.

"You'll be all right, then?" he inquired. Both of them knew that Remus really meant _will you be able to help with this current problem?_

Hermione took another deep breath. "Of course, Professor Lupin." She smiled. "Let's go hit the library then, and find out where Harry is." Remus smiled back at her, and the pair continued on.

They walked into the expansive library, and both waved at Madame Pince. "Why don't you pick a table, and try and start looking for books regarding power siphoning?"

"Power siphoning?" Hermione's mouth opened in a perfect circle, and her eyebrows raised. "Do you think that Who-Know-Who might be using Harry to... _fuel_ something?" Her eyes widened a bit. "I didn't know that was possible," she breathed, seeming intrigued.

Remus looked at her with a half-smile. "Good to know that your intellectual interest has been sparked, Hermione. You might want to try the books _Objects of Power_ by Augustus Lamilsil and _The Origins of Magic_ by Charles Beck."

"Those should be in the restricted section?"

Remus waved her off. "Just go, they should be shelved together," Remus closed his eyes and pictured it in his head. "Third section in, third shelf, right in the middle, if I recall correctly." He opened his eyes again, Hermione was looking faintly impressed. "I'll clear it with Madame Pince so that you have an open note to the restricted section until we get Harry back. Then I have to run a few errands, and I'll be back to help you. Try and get Ron started researching the origins of the Portkey spell; it's entirely possible that whatever hit Harry and Mr. Malfoy is a variation on that, if not a Portkey itself." Hermione nodded and headed off to the location that Remus described.

Remus walked over to Madame Pince's desk. She shot him a disapproving look, and he did his best to smile charmingly at her. It didn't work as well as the look used to when he was fifteen. While Sirius had been the studious one of the bunch, Remus had been the bookworm of the Marauders. Remus, owing to being a werewolf, hadn't many friends as a child, so he spent most of his early years reading Muggle literature. He'd always found it rather odd that Muggles seemed to take to fiction writing more than the Wizarding World. He supposed that it had something to do with the quality of lives; Muggles dreamed about magic, Wizards _lived_ it.

And when he, against the odds, had been accepted at Hogwarts by Dumbledore himself, most of his time outside of classes had been spent in the library. He charmed Madame Pince then, and had obtained extra time there for helping her out from time to time. "Madame Pince," she snorted at him. "Hermione, Ron and I will be looking into what happened to Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. I'll write them an open note to the restricted section for your records, but if you'd assist them when I have classes and can't be here?"

"Only if you promise one thing," Pince replied quickly. Remus raised his eyebrows and motioned for her to go on. "You take me out for a butterbrew at the Three Broomsticks when this is all over," she said, breaking into a smile. He smiled back, and nodded. "Now be off with you," she winked.

Remus nodded, and left the room. He had to deliver Neville's instructions to Severus and find Dumbledore. Somehow, he felt better about the whole situation.

Author's Notes:

Slivovitz: an Eastern European dry, colorless plum brandy. Aside from strawberry daiquiris, my favorite type of alcohol.

Quaerito: the Latin "_to seek, or look earnestly for_."

Protean: from Proteus, who in Greek mythology, was a sea god in service to Poseidon. Proteus could change his shape at will. The Protean Flowers take on the properties of whatever touches them.


	5. Cleaning Out the Closets

Draco led Potter back through the halls to the room he had found. Potter stepped inside and snorted. "You opened my trunk?" he asked, his voice sounding faintly accusatory.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course, you idiot. I didn't know this room was yours _until_ I did that." Potter flushed, but seemed to think better of commenting. Draco watched as the other boy walked across the room, and reached into the trunk. Pulling out both the invisibility cloak and the Firebolt, Potter paused. He shrunk the Firebolt with a modified charm.

"It's keyed to return to normal size with a command word," Potter explained at Draco's odd look. "Then if my wand is..."

"Otherwise engaged?" Draco offered wryly.

"Yes, if it's otherwise engaged, then I only have to say the command word and it'll return. Hermione developed it." Potter smiled slightly at the thought of the Mudblood, Draco scoffed.

Potter hummed slightly, and looked kneeled back down next to the trunk.

"What?"

Potter rummaged around to the bottom of the trunk a bit more. "Oh hell," Potter muttered.

"What?" Draco repeated, getting annoyed. Potter scowled over at Draco, who returned it with a sneer of his own.

"This was in there too," Potter finally replied, holding up a wand. It seemed identical to the wand in Potter's right hand.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Well, that _is_ something," he muttered. No two wands were exactly alike, just as no two wizards were alike. He cocked his head slightly and stared at the replica of Potter's wand. "Try using it. Cast a light spell," Draco commanded, slightly curious.

Potter shot him a curious glance. "And why should I do anything you tell me to, Malfoy?"

"Because Potter, I'm the only one here with even half a brain," Draco shot back, irritated. "Just do it, will you?" Potter shook his head. "Look, I have a theory, all right?"

"What is it?" Potter asked.

"If I'm right, your wand won't work," Draco lied easily.

"Why do you think that?" Potter sounded actually curious. Draco idly wondered if this was how the Mudblood felt explaining things to Potter and the Weasel.

"Because no two wands are exactly alike. It may look like your wand, but it won't work like it," Draco replied honestly.

Potter shrugged, and held up the duplicate wand. "Lumos," he muttered. Rather than lighting up the tip of the wand, the entire room seemed to get darker. The wand was actually absorbing the light. "Finite Incantatum," Potter said, cutting off the spell. The light from Draco's wand brightened again, lighting up the room again. Potter seemed puzzled.

"It's a mirror effect," Draco finally explained, rolling his eyes. They'd never get anywhere if Potter didn't know what was going on.

"Sort of like Priori Incantatum?" Potter asked, staring at the two identical wands in his hands.

"How did you know about that?"

"Voldemort."

"Ah," Draco said. There just didn't seem to be an adequate reply to Potter's words. The other boy was staring at the floor, turning red. For once that flush of anger was rising, and not because of Draco. He wasn't quite sure what he thought of those turn of events. Draco could see Potter's hands gripping the wands tightly enough to make his knuckles turn white. Draco shook himself out of his thoughts. "We should get going, it's not safe to stay in one place for too long."

Potter nodded slightly before looking up at Draco. "This time _I'll_ lead," he said, walking out of the room.

"Don't trust me, eh Potter?" Draco followed and smirked at the other boy. It was interesting to see how Potter had changed. Draco noticed that the other boy had started taking extra lessons in Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts in his fifth year. That on top of his normal classes, Quidditch, and the sheer biological need for sleep, had led to a slight rift between Mudblood Granger, Weasel and Potter. They were still all very good friends, but not as inseparable as they had been in previous years. Then, of course, had been the event in their Sixth year. The Weasel Junior had been kidnapped. Draco didn't know for sure, but he was fairly sure that his father had something to do with the kidnapping. Every time Draco had asked his father about it, Lucius had just glared and changed the topic.

Potter had gone out after the girl, sneaking out around the Weasel's parents, the Mudblood, the Werewolf, and even Dumbledore's watchful eyes. Draco would kill for the secret of how Potter had accomplished _that_ little feat. He had returned nearly a week later, muddy, wet, dirty, and altogether disheveled, with an unconscious Weasel Junior in tow. Neither of them seemed hurt. Draco's father had been furious when he had found out. Potter had taken the Weasel Junior to the hospital ward, and immediately disappeared into Dumbledore's office, along with McGonagall, Snape, Lupin, and Lupin's obnoxious dog.

Potter was quieter, and seemed to have taken more of an interest in studying. Snape even had trouble finding things wrong with his Potions. He laughed a little less, and seemed to think a little more before rushing headlong into danger. That was what tended to make Draco so angry around Potter; the courageous Gryffindor seemed to have acquired an ounce of Slytherin cunning.

"Of course not, Malfoy. Who in their right mind would trust you?" Potter replied shortly. He had tucked the duplicate wand into his robe, and was holding his wand in his hand, still casting the light charm. Draco rolled his eyes.

"You'll need that before long, I'm sure," he pointed at Potter's wand. Potter gave him a strange look, but didn't respond. Draco idly wondered what safe place Potter was dreaming up for them to hole up in. "What room are you thinking of?" he finally asked.

"I'm thinking of the Headmaster's Office in Hogwarts," Potter replied distantly. A closer look in the dim light gave Draco the impression of intense concentration. Potter was squinting, his brow was furled, and Potter was biting his lower lip hard. Draco snorted.

"That's the safest place you can think of? Who would have thought that I could be even less impressed with you than I was before now?" Draco sneered.

"What then Malfoy? Got any better ideas?" Potter shot back, sounding annoyed.

"Of course I do, Potter. I'm a Malfoy, my ideas are inherently better than yours." Potter gave a snort of his own and glared at Draco, who continued and cut Potter off. "The safest place to be right now would be in the Malfoy Sanctuary."

"The what?" Potter sounded interested, despite himself. "Not that I'd let you take me there, Malfoy," he continued quickly.

Draco laughed at the other boy. "Like I would ever take you there, only members of the Malfoy family can gain entrance."

"Well, that's very helpful then Malfoy. And since you're being so nice and friendly, why don't you do me a favor and shut up so I can get us to the Headmaster's Office?"

"You're the one who wanted to team up, Potter, so take the bloody consequences," Draco hissed back, infuriated by Potter's implication.

"Draco! Harry!" The bell-like voice of one of the children stopped Potter from replying. Draco froze. "Have you gotten lost?" The word echoed through the dungeon walls. _Lost..._

"Oh shit," Draco muttered. Potter gave him a strange look.

"Are you completely sure they aren't children? They seemed perfectly normal to me," he pointed out.

"No Potter," Draco said slowly, pitching his voice as if he was talking to a child, "those are not children. That little _thing_ physically dragged me to the dining room. And that little stunt asking me to sit down, oh, no child could do that." Potter cocked his head at Draco, and seemed to consider what he said seriously for the first time. "Just trust me on this Potter." In response, Potter sneered as if to tell Draco exactly what he thought of that particular statement. Draco sneered back. "We should put on the Invisibility Cloak and get out of here."

Potter looked at the cloak in his hands, and then back at Draco. "How do you propose to do that? Two people won't fit under the cloak."

Draco scowled. "I swear, Potter, you're far more rabbit than Wizard. Hold out the damn thing," Draco commanded. Potter eyed Draco, his brow furled suspiciously, before doing as Draco asked. Potter held the cloak so that the outside was facing Draco and half of Potter's body disappeared. "No, turn it around, I have to cast this on the inside of the cloak, idiot."

"What exactly will you be doing to my cloak, Malfoy?" Potter asked as he turned it around the right way.

Draco just smiled sweet and pointed his wand at the cloak. "Cresce," he growled, expanding the inside of the cloak so that it was a nice square.

"Malfoy, what the hell did you just do?" Potter asked again, with more anger in his voice.

"You really are quite the simpleton, aren't you, Potter? It was a simple expansion spell. Now your cloak will cover both of us without a problem. And I thought you were taking extra classes," Draco sneered.

Potter snorted. "My classes don't generally include the Dark Arts, Malfoy. Now if we're going to go, let's be on with it." Potter said impatiently, throwing the cloak over his shoulder and holding it open for Draco to join him underneath.

"Ha, Potter, shows what you know! That's a perfectly good spell!" Potter shot Draco a wry look. "Just because the Mudblood hasn't managed to teach it to you yet doesn't make it Dark, Potter." Potter snorted. "Oh, I don't know why I bother. You probably don't even know the true origins of Dark Magic, do you?"

Potter stopped dead, and looked over at Draco suspiciously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco rolled his eyes at the other boy, before grabbing his arm, and dragging him along. "It means, Potter, that you're an ignorant sod, and I don't know why the hell I'm helping you."

Potter growled, but kept walking without replying. He seemed to be studying Draco, who decided it might be wiser to not comment. He hated to admit it, but Potter was a good wizard, and Draco had a sneaking suspicion that he had been right in the ballroom: it would take both of them to get out. Draco hated relying on other people; it was the way he was brought up. Don't cry, take what you want, everyone else is beneath you, and most importantly: trust no one but a Malfoy.

It had taken Draco until his Sixth year in school to wonder about the hypocrisy of those words. Lucius himself seemed to contradict the Malfoy family motto: _ Existez Pour Régner Seulement. _ Exist only to rule. If ruling was suffering the Cruciatus Curse at Voldemort's hands, Draco was having none of it. He did love his family, and in the end, that was where Draco's loyalties lied. As much as he hated the way his family ruled his life, Draco couldn't imagine living any other way. It was sheer tradition; one day he'd be doing the same thing to _his_ son. He loved his father, but hated the man he had chosen to serve. It was all so silly, a great big war started just because one man was pissed off that some stupid Muggle had abandoned him. It was all so... _inelegant._

But besides his personal feelings on the matter, Draco did what he was told. Lucius, of course, rewarded him generously for this. Draco had made his feelings quite plain to his father on the matter, something that Lucius had respected him for. _"There are more of them than there are of us, Father, and I think You-Know-Who is more apt to break us wide open into the Muggle World than anyone else. Quite a strange plan for someone who claims to hate them and remove the Wizarding World from them permanently,"_ Draco had sneered to his father.

Lucius had laughed at that, long, hard, and rich. A laugh remarkably similar to Draco's own, a register lower, bass to tenor. _"Perhaps, Draco, there is merit to what you say. But working for Voldemort has its own merits," Lucius had replied, setting his hand on Draco's head, "especially since **you** failed to get in Harry Potter's good graces."_

"But Potter and his damned scar-"

"Language, Draco. A Malfoy is refined in all things; speech being one of the most important."

Draco had snorted in an unrefined manner at that. "As I was **saying,** Potter is impossible to get along with. He uses that scar to get away with anything and everything! I hate him!"

Lucius had looked at Draco long and hard, before finally letting his features purse into a scowl. "You'll do as your told, and be a Malfoy. You'll understand what's going on around you soon enough, boy."

"Draaaaaco," the sounds of his name echoing through the hallway brought Draco out of his reverie. It was the little girl calling. Draco grimaced. "Please come back!" Draco found himself stopping, much to Potter's surprise. He turned, and started to head back toward where the kitchen had been.

"Malfoy, you must be depriving some village of their idiot. Are you completely off your head?" Potter spat out. Draco tried to turn and reply insultingly, but he couldn't. He physically couldn't do anything but walk back towards the kitchen. "You nutter!" Potter grabbed Draco's arm, and found himself being dragged along with Draco. Draco felt his muscles tense as he tried to resist, to throw the pull of both the damned little girl _and_ Potter. Nothing was working.

Some of his increasing panic must have communicated itself to Potter, who pulled out his wand and pointed it at Draco. "Petrificus Totalus!" Draco felt his body seize up, and fall to the ground. Potter sighed and shook his head at Draco. "What the hell am I supposed to do with you, Malfoy?" Draco, from his position on the floor, saw Potter close his eyes and think. Potter sighed again, and Draco found himself wishing for the ability to talk, if only so he could hex the stupidity out of Potter. Especially after that village idiot comment. "Mobilicorpus," Potter commanded. Draco felt his body lighten, and start floating behind Potter as the other boy strode to the closest door. Potter took a deep breath, put his left hand on the door, and threw it open.

Draco floated into a large circular room. There was a table in the middle covered with lots of odd and in a few instances, _smoking_ objects. The walls were covered with portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts, only four of which Draco recognized: Dippet, the Headmaster during Tom Riddle's time at Hogwarts, and of course, the four Hogwarts founders. In addition to the table was a large desk with _clawed feet_ and a shelf that held a jeweled sword and the Sorting Hat. Potter floated Draco towards one of the two chairs in the room, and arranged him manually so that Draco was sitting. "Finite Incantatum," Potter said as soon as Draco was settled. He gestured with his wand hand around the room. "It's the Headmaster's Office."

"I figured that out on my own, Potter, thanks," Draco spit back. "Hey! I'm not being controlled anymore!" In spite of himself, Draco found himself giving Potter a relieved smile. Potter reflexively smiled back, and Draco realized what he was doing. He wiped the expression off his face, and replaced it with his habitual sneer.

Potter seemed startled by the abrupt change. "Controlled?"

"That thing! The thing you insisted was a _little girl._ Somehow she has the ability to control me through her words," Draco answered, rubbing his forehead. He felt a rather nasty headache coming on.

"What," Potter asked, pulling up a chair next to Draco, "like Imperius?"

Draco shook his head and then winced, immediately regretted the action as pains starting shooting through his temples. "No, I can throw off Imperius."

Underneath his massaging hand, Draco could see Potter's eyebrows rise nearly to the level of his hairline. "Then, Mr. Dark Arts Expert, what was it?"

Draco scowled at him, annoyed both at the appellation and the answer. "I don't know," he growled softly.

Potter smiled as if his birthday and Christmas had come both early and together. "What was that Malfoy? I didn't quite catch it!"

"I don't know," Draco shouted, standing up. He swayed as his head burst into more pain, and let his legs collapse and send him back into the chair. His vision blurred, and he felt Potter's hand on his head.

"Doleo Decessus," Draco heard Potter say and the pain immediately stopped. The other boy was wearing a concerned expression and still had one hand on Draco's forehead. "Are you all right, Malfoy?"

Draco snorted, and threw off Potter's hand and concern. "What do you think you're doing, Potter?"

As expected, the red flush started almost immediately. "Who the **fuck** do you think you are, Malfoy?" Potter shouted.

Draco laughed, honestly amused by the question. He stood up, eye to eye with Potter, and gave the other boy the most honest and genuine smile he could. Potter seemed confused by the tactic; he had most likely been expecting an insult, a hex, or even a physical blow. "Just that, Potter. I'm Draco Malfoy."

Potter sat down with a thud. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked in a bemused sort of voice.

"Whatever you think it means, Potter," Draco said plainly. He walked over and investigated the sword. It glistened sliver in the light, and the hilt was covered in rubies. "Dumbledore has the sword of _Godric Gryffindor_?" Draco asked in disbelief. He turned and took in Potter's smug expression.

"I pulled that out of the Sorting Hat in my second year while I was in the Chamber of Secrets."

Draco reached out to touch the sword reverently. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you Potter?" The other boy snorted. "So, Potter, have any theories on what those two things are, how they controlled me, why they can't seem to control you despite the fact that you, like the trusting idiot you are, _ate their food,_ and most importantly, how to get out of this hell hole?"

Potter tapped his fingers on the chair. "Well, it seems like this place, at least, is safe. Why not just stay here until someone rescues us?"

"Ah, that eternal Gryffindor optimism. My god Potter, you are certainly a fountain of the trite and unnecessary."

"Oh, shut up Malfoy," Potter shot back crossly. He stood and walked over to stand next to Draco. Potter grabbed the sword and pulled it off the wall.

"Can you use that thing?"

"Yes, Professor Snape has been teaching me."

"_Snape_ knows how to fence?" Draco was astonished. His father had taught him many sword forms, but Draco was growing rusty at Hogwarts, no one to practice with. Potter just grinned and turned to the desk. He grabbed a piece of paper and transfigured it into a sheath and belt. He slid Gryffindor's sword into the sheath slowly, the metal of the blade scraping. Potter's eyes seemed to be gleaming behind his old and taped glasses. Draco shook himself out of his trance. "I take it you have no ideas either then." He sighed. "We'll just have to go back out there and try and explore."

Potter's eyebrows rose in surprise. "And I thought that courage was a Gryffindor trait," he said sly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, you misheard the Sorting Hat our first year, Gryffindors are known for the fact that they all are missing brains." To his surprise, Potter laughed.

"That does seem to be the common opinion," he slapped Draco on the back. "Well, if we're going, the sooner the better, I'd say." He examined Draco closely. "Maybe you better stay behind me until we figure out exactly what those things are?" Potter offered tentatively.

Draco scowled back at him, but understood Potter's point. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but in this scenario, _he_ was the weak link. "What makes you so special, Potter? Why are you able to resist?" Draco asked, not allowing the frustration and anger he felt enter his voice. The time for arguing was past. He'd just have to learn to trust the other boy, and Draco detested the very thought.

Potter looked down at his hand, which he had lightly rested on the hilt of Gryffindor's sword. "I don't know, Malfoy. I really don't know," he said quietly, sounding rather sad. Potter abruptly scowled, and turned away. "Let's go," he said shortly, heading towards the door.

Draco followed, a little bemused. What exactly could Perfect Potter be sad about? Well, other than the repeated assassination attempts, but Draco had always firmly believed that those least that added a spice to the variety of his life. Potter had friends, acclamation, position, and some modicum of intelligence even if he did tend to not use it. From what Draco knew of the Potter line, he came from a long line of respected Purebloods, Potter's mother being one notable exception, and his estate, when land, bonds, and money in both the Wizarding and Muggle Worlds combined, nearly rivaled the Malfoy fortune. It was infuriating the way Potter had _everything._ Women, and in some cases, men threw themselves at the boy. He wasn't unattractive either, just tousled and rumpled. And the worst thing of all was the way he was able to foil Draco in everyway, better him, best him, beat him, and be so damn self-righteous and smug about it all the while. The Boy Who Didn't Have A Care In The World.

Draco sneered at Potter's back, holding his wand in the ready position as they exited the room. "The cloak, Potter." Potter turned to Draco with a puzzled expression and Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, how did you survive all those attempts on your life? Accio Invisibility Cloak," he said firmly, the cloak flying into his hands. Draco wrapped it around himself with a smirk, and held a open end out to Potter who joined him.

Once wrapped in the cloak, the pair started walking again. They were nearly side-by-side, Draco just a hair behind Potter. Both had their wands raised. Draco was thankful that it seemed neither of the children were nearby, and Draco couldn't hear their voices. "Potter?" Potter's head turned towards Draco, but neither stopped walking. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I'm stuck in a trap, the trap contains at least three beings of unknown origin that probably mean us bodily harm, Voldemort is after my head, and I'm stuck in here with you, Malfoy. What could possibly be wrong?" Potter sounded vaguely amused by the question. All sadness or worry seemed to have evaporated from his body and he was back to being the stupid git that Draco hated. Draco scowled, more at himself than Potter. What was he thinking, getting worried about Potter? He'd faced down Voldemort and _won,_ let alone lived. Potter could dammed well take care of himself.

Draco wrenched his gaze away from Potter, and tried to concentrate on their surroundings. Potter had led them right back into the main hallway. "Should we check the doors?" he asked, his whispering breath falling on Potter's neck.

"Probably," Potter replied. He didn't bother to whisper.

"Shhh!" Draco admonished him, frantically looking around. "Do you _want_ their attention on us, you pillock?"

Potter sighed. "Sorry," this time it came out as a whisper. Draco found himself rather surprised that Potter even bothered to apologize. It seemed out of character for him. In fact, the way he'd been acting since the Headmaster's Office seemed out of character. It was most disturbing. "Let's try that one first," Potter pointed to the door next to the one they had exited. Potter grabbed the handle, looked once at Draco, and threw open the door. Draco had his wand out and a punishing hex on his lips. "Oh hell," Potter moaned as he got a good look at the room.

Draco peered around him. The room led outdoors. It was night, and Draco could make out a dark and rather overgrown graveyard. There was a small church to the right, beyond a yew tree, and a dark and foreboding house on the hillside nearby. "Do you know this place, Potter?" Draco asked.

Potter gulped, and stepped inside the room. Draco followed and shut the door behind them. Potter pointed to the house in the distance. "That's the Riddle house," he stated flatly. "This is where Voldemort revived himself in our Fourth year."

"Oh hell, indeed."

Potter laughed, an hysterical touch to it. "I think we should move on, Draco."

Draco nodded, too disturbed by the scenery and Potter's reaction to it to question Potter's slip of the tongue. "For once, Potter, I agree with you."

Both boys turned around and headed back towards the door.

"Leaving so soon, Harry? You just got here," a cold, raspy voice asked from behind them. Draco thought it sounded familiar, but couldn't place it. Potter stiffened in front of him, and both slowly turned around. "Why don't you take the Cloak off, Harry. We're all friends here."

Cedric Diggory, pale, cold, and rotting, stood behind them.

Author's Notes:

Cresce: this is "grow!" as an imperative verb in Latin.

Doleo Decessus: roughly means "_pain desist,_" in Latin. Think of it as a bit like Wizarding aspirin, I suppose.


	6. Finding Old Knickknacks

Draco stared at the cadaver in front of them. Diggory's flesh had rotted away straight to the bone in spots, the most gruesome being his cheek. Draco could see Diggory's white teeth between the greenish-black flesh. Draco could see his veins; they looked green in the moonlight. His flesh was swollen in spots, and Diggory's tongue was sticking out of his mouth. His hair had grown, and now reached nearly to his waist. His abdomen was a gaping hole, as if it had burst from the inside out. The smell wafting off Diggory's body vaguely reminded Draco of someone with bad breath. Dimly he heard Potter start to hyperventilate next to him.

"Potter..." Draco whispered, slowly began backing away from Diggory. "Let's... go...!" Potter didn't move.

Diggory started to walk closer. "Do you remember what he said, Harry? Do remember the way the words hissed through the air towards us? Do you remember what happened? Kill the spare. _Kill the spare. Kill the spare._" Diggory's voice was rough, and the words were slurred because of the condition of his tongue.

"Potter," Draco whispered, more urgently this time. He had his hand on the doorknob. "We have to go!"

Potter didn't move.

"Kill the spare, Harry. That's what he said, and that's what they did. Kill the spare. But now, it's my turn, Harry. I'm not the spare anymore." Diggory stalked close enough that he could touch Potter, who moaned. Diggory's gaunt hand caressed Potter's messy black hair, pressing it down into some semblance of order. Diggory then waved a black arm, and next to him appeared three forms in black cloaks. They were all wearing the masks of Death Eaters. "**Kill the spare.**"

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck," Draco moaned. He tried to jerk open the door, but the knob wouldn't turn. "Potter!"

Slowly Potter turned to look at Draco. Potter's face was bleached white and his green eyes blazed underneath his glasses. His bottom lip was quivering and Draco could see Potter's hands shaking. The Death Eaters were raising their wands and pointing at Draco, who frantically tried to get the knob to turn. "Alohomora!" he heard Potter say, as if in a daze.

"Shit!" Draco took a deep breath and turned around to face the Death Eaters. All three had their wands raised and pointed straight at Draco's head. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Potter turning back as well.

"Avada Kedavra," an extremely familiar voice pronounced. It was the voice of Draco's father. He saw a flash of bright green light and was blinded. When his vision cleared, Draco's jaw dropped at what he saw.

Potter was standing in front of him, his wand hand outstretched, palm up, in a very obvious stopping gesture. He had his eyes closed and a resigned look on his face. The other arm was reaching towards Draco, as if he meant to push him out of the way. Draco tentatively touched Potter at the nape of his neck. The boy's flesh was cold and clammy, but he could detect a pulse. "Potter?" he asked quietly.

"_Kill the spare, kill the spare, kill the spare, kill the spare,_" Diggory's three Death Eaters were chanting as they stalked closer. Diggory himself was still standing where he had previously, simply watching Potter. Draco tried the doorknob again, desperately wishing and praying that it would open. This time the handle turned. Draco grabbed the back of Potter's robe, and yanked him out of the room. Potter was still seemed immobilized by Diggory.

The hallway was empty and silent. Draco slammed the door shut behind him, and leaned against it. He could feel the slap of palms against the wood. Potter was sprawled on the floor where Draco had thrown him. "Potter?" he repeated. Potter's head turned up. His green eyes seemed listless. It looked as if he had been carrying the guilt for Diggory's death for the last three years, if the scene in the room was any indication of his mental state. Potter's gaze was unnerving. "Talk about skeletons in the closet, eh Potter?" Draco joked weakly.

"Why am I not dead?"

"What?"

"Why am I not dead, Malfoy?" Potter sounded slightly hysterical, but Draco surmised that even that emotion was probably better than the blankness present before.

"I..." Draco trailed off. Other than his head, Potter hadn't moved. "It's not safe here. Do you think the Headmaster's Office would be a good place to hide for a while?" Potter was silent. "Right then. Fine. Get up Potter." Draco reached a hand out to help the other boy up. Potter just stared at it as if he didn't know what was going on and started shivering. Vaguely Draco realized he was in shock. Sighing, Draco bent over, and grabbed Potter's arms to draw him to his feet. He made sure he had a firm hold on Potter's left arm, leaving Potter's wand hand hanging loosely at his side, and dragged the other boy back to the door that had led to the Headmaster's Office. He took a deep breath and threw open the door. "Oh thank God," Draco muttered as he took in the office. It hadn't changed and there weren't any uninvited guests. Draco wrangled Potter over to one of the chairs and made him sit down, much in the same way that Potter had done to him earlier.

Draco looked around for a blanket, faintly recalling that making sure the victim could maintain their body temperature was one of the ways to treat shock. Seeing none in sight, Draco concentrated, and tried to remember what his father had taught him about conjuration. He snorted slightly as he realized he was about to use his father's advice to help _Harry Potter._

Draco pointed his wand at the air above Potter, and began drawing a blanket. A flannel quilt appeared, and gently floated down to cover Potter. "Why am I not dead?" Potter repeated again, seeming to take no notice of his surroundings or the blanket. Draco sighed and dropped into the chair next to Potter.

Draco studied Potter intently for a few minutes, thinking about his question. "Potter," he finally said slowly, "do you realize what you just did?"

Potter's gaze slowly drifted from the floor to Draco. His eyes were wide, but it seemed as if the other boy was slowly coming out of shock. He shuddered and whipped out his wand. Draco raised his own wand in defense. God only knew what Potter would try in this state of mind. Potter shuddered again, this time hard enough to dislodge the blanket. It fell to the ground. Potter pointed the wand at himself, and Draco sprang forward, reaching out to grab Potter's wrist before he realized what he was doing and that the world would be infinitely better without Harry Potter. Potter gave Draco a wry look, as if he knew exactly what Draco was doing. "Purga," Potter muttered, casting a strong cleaning charm on himself. "I can't believe it _touched_ me," Potter shivered a third time and repeated the charm. The second time had so much force behind it that even Potter's normally unruly hair laid down in order. The third cast of the charm left Potter's old sneakers sparkling and the tape on his glasses straight and while as bleach. Potter ran his fingers through his hair, sighing and messing up the neat locks. Draco had to admit that Potter's tangle looked better messy and flying every which way. "I just saved your life, Malfoy."

"No, not that, you toad!" Even to Draco's ears the insult seemed a little weak, but it did what was intended. Potter's mouth tightened, and Draco was relieved to see a faint spark of red touch Potter's cheeks.

Potter snorted. He seemed to be coming back to himself quicker and quicker. Draco's relief grew. He wasn't sure if he liked the new vulnerable Harry Potter. Draco just wasn't comfortable taking care of anyone beyond himself, and it was just so incongruous to see _Harry Potter_ relying on him for comfort. "What, then, would you be talking about, Malfoy?"

"You just absorbed the _Killing Curse._ With no damage."

Potter snorted again. "It was probably just an illusion anyway."

Draco shook his head. "An illusion the same way your wand is an illusion?" Potter scowled and Draco instinctively sneered back. "Well, then, why don't we go back outside, find a room with Voldemort and let him cast Cruciatus on you a few times to check and see if the spells cast are illusions?" he drawled.

"Of course, Draco," Potter replied sweetly. "Sounds wonderful."

Draco blinked, taken aback by Potter's answer. He reached out and placed the back of his hand on Potter's forehead. The other boy didn't feel overheated, but Draco did notice that the flush on Potter's cheeks brightened at the touch. "All right, Potter, as soon as we get out of here, I'm shipping you straight to St. Mungo's. You've gone absolutely mad."

"You realize that they'll ship you right along with me, Malfoy," Potter laughed.

"Oh yes, the diagnosis will of course be _prolonged exposure to Potter,_" Draco replied wryly. Somewhere in the back of his head he was amazed that he, Draco Malfoy, was sitting here in the middle of a fake Headmaster's Office, joking with _Harry Potter._ After having his life saved by said Harry Potter. Draco lost his smile immediately. He stood and began pacing the room, thinking. Potter watched him.

"What?"

"You still haven't answered my question, Potter," Draco said, feeling vaguely foolish as he realized that Potter had said much the same thing to him earlier.

"Which question?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Do you realize what you just did in there?" Potter paused, and seemed to actually consider the question. He blanched, and started cursing more harshly than he had when Draco had woken up in the ballroom. Draco stared at him in confusion before smirking. "Pick all that up from the Weasel, eh Potter?"

Potter paused mid-curse and glared piercingly at Draco. "Oh, sod off, Malfoy."

"I wish I could, Potter. But in case, being the mental genius you are, you haven't spotted it," Draco threw up his arms in the air, "we're **trapped!**"

"God, Malfoy, don't you ever give up?" Potter shouted back. Draco stopped in his pacing to stare at the other boy. "Don't you ever stop?"

Draco's lips tightened and he clenched his hands. Intellectually, he knew the last thing they needed was another fight, especially this soon after Diggory. But that impulse to beat the shit out of Potter was returning, and it was so hard to resist. "Look, Harry," Draco bit out, thinking that two could play _that_ game.

"Oh, shut up Malfoy," Potter cut him off crossly and slumped down in his chair. The anger seemed to have rushed out of him. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Draco felt his mouth drop open at Potter's sudden apology. "Well," he said faintly. "That was unexpected." Potter laughed in response and Draco rolled his eyes again. "What caused the sudden fit of Tourette's Syndrome?"

Potter gave him an odd look. "I stopped the Killing Curse."

"And this is bad how? I'd think _you_ of all people would be grateful for that ability. Makes staying alive that much easier."

Potter sighed, and Draco noticed one of his hands flutter down to toy with the hilt of Gryffindor's sword. "It's another thing that sets me apart from everyone else, Malfoy. I hate that." He sighed again. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"Perhaps because I'm here?" Draco snorted. "But that's not what I meant."

"What?" Potter's brow furled in confusion.

"Potter, you've found your magical talent."

"Oh, and here I thought that was something you were born with," Potter laughed, dismissing what Draco was trying to tell him. Draco sat down, and rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out the best way to explain this to Potter. Yet another reason Mudbloods just weren't suitable in the Wizarding World. They really had no idea about the true essence of magic.

"All right Potter, how much do you know about the origins of magic?" Draco finally asked. He had a faint hope that Potter would know _something,_ so he wouldn't have to start at the beginning.

"Malfoy, you have been to Binns's classes, right?" Potter laughed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Look, Potter, this is something every Wizarding child is taught _before_ Hogwarts. I don't know why it isn't covered in the curriculum." Potter made a "go on," motion as he reached down and picked the blanket off the floor. "All Wizards are descended from gods," Draco said plainly, hoping Potter wouldn't laugh it off. He had no idea how long they would be safe in the replica of the Headmaster's Office, and the last thing he wanted to do was start a fight with Potter about the origins of magic.

Surprisingly enough, Potter just raised his eyebrows and tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. "Really?" he asked in a non-committal tone.

"For once, Potter, I'm not playing with you. It's true. We're descended from the Olympians. Well, most of the European Wizarding community, I mean. Anyway, when the blood of the gods mingled with that of normal humans, it created abnormalities. Demi-humans, demi-gods, and us. Wizards. Generally that bloodline centers towards one or two talents, something you and you alone are particularly good at. No one is quite sure how it's determined, but the talent usually manifests at different times for different Wizards and is always linked to some integral part of their character."

"Like Snape with his Potions, or McGonagall with Transfiguration?" Potter asked. His eyes seemed far away, as if he was remembering something.

"Exactly. You've found your talent."

Potter laughed. "Well, I'm so glad one of us knows what it is. Care to share, Malfoy?"

Draco smiled at Potter and quickly raised his wand, casting the Jelly-Legs hex at him. As quickly as the hex went slinging towards Potter, Draco watched as Potter's hand shot out in a stopping motion. The hex hit his hand and dissipated without taking effect in a flash of red light that knocked Draco out of his chair. Picking himself up off the floor, Draco sat back down next to Potter. "That's your talent, Potter. You're the Wizarding World's first maginull."

"Maginull? Did you just make that up yourself?"

"Magic nullifier. You neutralize magic sent towards you. That's why the Killing Curse and my hex dissipated. _Magic doesn't work on you, Potter._" Potter closed his eyes and sighed. "You know, _that_ must be why Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby." Draco stood and started to pace again.

Potter laughed and once again stroked the hilt of the Gryffindor sword. "And here I thought it was simply because I was the last Heir of Gryffindor." Draco stared. What was one supposed to say in response to that? Potter laughed at the expression on Draco's face.

"When did you find that out?"

Potter sobered, and surprisingly scowled. "No one ever told me, I worked it out for myself." Draco eyed Potter speculatively for a moment before nodding. Lots of little things he had noticed in the last six years at Hogwarts suddenly added up: why Potter was given so much leeway by all the teachers, why Potter survived Voldemort's attack, why Potter was able to pull the sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat. It certainly explained why Potter was the one everyone, up to and including Dumbledore, expected to face and kill Voldemort. The cycle that had started nearly 1000 years ago with Godric and Salazar was coming to an end with their descendants. Draco sighed and frowned over at Potter.

"Do you know exactly what you did to create the effect?"

Potter shrugged. "I'm still not exactly clear on what happened, Malfoy, let alone how I did it." He bit his lip before giggling a little. "You know, if anyone from Hogwarts saw us right now, they'd probably die of shock?"

Draco gave Potter an odd look. "What are you on about, Potter?"

Potter laughed harder. "Us. You. Me. Having a civil conversation," he finally said, smiling. Draco found that his lips seemed to want to curl up in an answering smile, so he quickly the expression to a sneer. This was _Potter._ Potter lost his smile as he took in Draco's sneer. "Oh, fine, be that way, Malfoy," he muttered. "Explain to me exactly what you think I did again?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Are you always this dense, Potter? Because if you are, I'm honestly surprised Granger puts up with you."

Potter glared. Now _that_ was more like it. "Just get on with it, Malfoy, and leave the number of insults to an absolute minimum."

"Oh! The Great and Wonderful Potter speaks! I bow and grovel at your feet, Master!" Draco shot back sarcastically. "Don't ever tell me what to do!"

Potter snorted. "Would you _please_ explain, Draco?" he asked in a super-sweet voice.

Draco rolled his eyes. "All right. The basic point is that everyone has certain talents. One or two things they and they alone can do. Snape has an intrinsic knowledge of potions and measurements, he's the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion, you know. He just inherently _knows_ what's needed to get the results he wants. I think your talent is defensive based, you can absorb spells so that you're not hurt by them."

Potter nodded slowly. "I think I understand what you're saying now. But how am I supposed to control it?"

Draco sneered back at him. "How am I supposed to know? I'm making this up -" To his surprise, Draco was cut off by the sound of his own stomach growling. Potter laughed. "Oh shut up, at least I wasn't an idiot enough to eat their food," he groused as he slumped back into the chair.

"God, Malfoy, you are such a baby," Potter said, but he was smiling. He pointed his wand at some items on the Headmaster's desk, and transfigured them into food. It seemed to be an assortment of sandwiches. Potter grabbed one, and started eating hungrily.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Potter?" Draco asked, reaching out tentatively to take a sandwich. Potter didn't seem to be sprouting tentacles or keeling over, but one never knew, did they? Draco took a bite, it was surprisingly good.

"Hey, Malfoy? Why'd you conjure a blanket? Rather than just transfiguring one?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. It was the first thing that I thought of." Potter gave him a wry look, but continued to eat. Draco sneered back. "When we finish eating we should probably test out your abilities. I'd hate to be standing behind you if they failed to cancel the Killing Curse." Potter cocked his head at Draco and considered him. He opened his mouth to speak and then rapidly closed it. "Oh just say it, Potter."

"Are you going to join?"

"Join what, Potter?" Draco asked, stalling. In truth, he had a pretty good idea what the other boy was asking.

Potter rolled his eyes. "The Beatles. Voldemort and the Death Eaters, you twat. I'm sure you and He-Who-Is-A-Pain-In-My-Arse would get along famously. You both hate me."

Draco raised his eyebrows and allowed a laugh at Harry's re-interpretation of the Wizarding World's appellation "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Potter seemed surprised by Draco's reaction. "Who are the Beatles?"

Potter snorted. "Muggle rock band. Now stop avoiding the question."

"And what would you care if I did, Potter?"

"Because hating someone doesn't mean you want them dead, Malfoy. You're the world's most annoying man, you idiot, but I don't want to see you end up on the wrong side of my Killing Curse."

Draco laughed. "Oh, the sheer arrogance. Who is to say _I_ wouldn't be faster?"

Potter smiled brilliantly. "Well, if you're right, then I _can't_ be hurt by magical means." He sounded extraordinarily smug.

Draco scowled at that. "Bugger. You're right." He shook his head. "We should practice a bit. It could be your defensive abilities are linked to intentions, or spell type, or the Dark Arts, or even body posture. The variables are numerous."

Potter nodded and stood up. "Take your best shot, Malfoy."

Draco smirked and sent a Conjunctivitis Curse at Potter, who stood perfectly still and let it hit him. "Well?"

Potter shrugged. "Didn't effect me. But my eyesight's so bad anyway that I probably wouldn't notice the difference."

"Hrm," Draco considered. Everything he had sent at Potter had been attack-orientated spells. Perhaps something defensive or status changing? He shot a Cheering Charm at Potter, who smiled, and shook his head. "Hrm," he repeated, staring at Potter. "Oh just sit down, I'm not going to throw any more curses at you."

Potter shrugged and did what he was told. Draco paced a bit more, thinking. He could feel Potter's eyes on him, watching, waiting for Draco to say something. Draco decided to stretch things as far as he could. Potter finally shrugged again, and went back to eating the sandwiches. Perfect.

Quickly, so that Potter would be surprised, Draco pointed his wand at the other boy. "Crucio," he spat. Potter spasmed in pain and started to choke on the piece of sandwich he had. "Finite Incantatum," Draco quickly said. While he could cast the Cruciatus Curse, he wouldn't be a Malfoy if he couldn't, Draco didn't particularly like using it. Potter sat in the chair taking gasping breaths. He raised his head and glared at Draco.

"What did you do that for, Malfoy?" Potter whispered, sounding far more angry and dangerous than Draco had ever heard him before.

Draco sat down next to Potter and studied him carefully before answering. "It was a test."

"A TEST?" Potter exploded. He swung at Draco, who wasn't able to get out of the way in time and Potter's fist connecting with Draco's jaw and sending both Draco and the chair crashing to the floor. Potter loomed over him. Draco decided that the best course of action would be nothing. Let Potter's anger run out of steam before he tried to talk rationally to him. Draco knew that Potter wasn't a violent person by nature. Oh, he could get angry all right. He could insult. There was sarcasm and in places a little bitterness. But the sheer level of outright physical violence Potter had shown since they had been trapped here was out of character. Even the fight that Draco had instigated in order to activate the trap was out of character. Draco might hurt like hell afterwards, but the four or five punches Potter would get in before his conscience got the better of him would be worth it if it allowed Potter the chance to think rationally.

Potter kicked Draco in the ribs as he tried to stand up, making him grunt in pain and land back on the floor. He tried to stand up again, holding onto his side. This time Potter let him. "A test?" he repeated icily. "A fucking test, Draco?" Potter swung at Draco again and connected. This time, however, when Draco went down, Potter went with him. Draco had instinctively reached out for the nearest object to try and regain his balance. That object just happened to be the front of Potter's robes. The pair of them crashed onto the floor. Potter landed on Draco's ribs, his wand hand pressing into the exact spot Potter had kicked.

Potter didn't move, he just laid there, with his nose pressed into Draco's neck, breathing heavily. He didn't know what to do. "Potter?" Draco said quietly. He still felt Potter's hot breath on his neck. "Potter?" he tried again. Still no response but the heavy breathing. "Harry?"

The sound of his first name jerked Potter out of his trance and he sat up. All the anger had drained out of him, just as Draco knew it would. Potter just stared down at Draco with hooded eyes. The expression faintly surprised Draco, who had never really considered Potter a guarded person. "Harry?"

Potter waved him off. "Go ahead, explain it to me." He still had his wand pointed towards Draco.

"It was a test of two things," Draco said, not moving from the floor. He was fairly sure he would need a few minutes before he would even be able to. "First I wanted to see if you had to be conscious of the incoming spell to block it -"

"A surprise attack?" Potter cut him off.

"Yes, exactly," Draco nodded. "Second I wanted to test the limits of the protection. I was only using low level spells earlier, so what would happen if I shot a higher level spell at you? I certainly wasn't going to test out the Killing Curse, and you could break the Imperius Curse even back in Fourth Year. So it had to be Cruciatus."

"How long have you been able to cast the Unforgivables?"

Draco sighed, not even sure why he was bothering to tell Potter this. "I can only cast two of them, and only since last year." Potter nodded slowly, as if this was simply confirming something he already knew.

"The only one I can cast is Imperius. I used it when I rescued Ginny," Potter stated coldly.

Draco smiled. "That doesn't surprise me."

Potter seemed surprised. "What do you mean?"

"You know how I said everyone's talent is linked to some essential aspect of a personality? Well, in reality, _all_ magic works that way. In theory, it's possible for the Mud -" Draco saw a flush of red touch Potter's cheeks and cut himself off. "For Granger to learn every spell in existence. In reality, there will be spells she simply can't perform. I suspect she'd be quite good at Imperius, strikes me as a bit of a control freak frankly," Draco volunteered. Potter didn't seem amused. "The point is, to be able to pull off spells, it has to touch a certain part of you. The higher level the spell, the more attuned to your personality it is. Haven't you ever noticed how good you are at defensive magic? Didn't you ever wonder why you have such a powerful Patronus, even in third year? It's because your first thought instinctively is not to attack, it's to defend."

"So you have to have a certain amount of sadism in you to be able to pull off Cruciatus?" Draco scowled, but nodded again. Potter seemed to contemplate that a bit before offering Draco his hand. "Come on, Malfoy, let's get you healed." Draco took his hand and allowed the other boy to pull him up.

"Don't bother," he said quietly. The bruises were earned fairly, besides, they didn't hurt very much. Potter gave him an odd look, but let it go. Draco stared at the desk for a minute, avoiding Potter's eyes. An idea occurred to him, and he quickly transfigured a quill that was lying there in a knife. "Here," Draco said, shoving the knife into Potter's hand. "Make a small cut on your hand, I'd like to check and see if healing spells are effected by your talent."

Potter stared at the knife before nodding. He gripped the hilt tightly in his left hand, and dragged the blade across the palm of his left. The cut didn't look very deep, but started bleeding almost immediately. "You should try it first," Potter said.

Draco looked at him in surprise. The suggestion was a good one, if Draco failed to heal the cut, then Potter would be able to try and see if his abilities interfered with his own spell casting. It seemed odd to hear such a sensible suggestion from Potter. Draco pointed his wand at the cut. "Sano," he said clearly. The cut didn't heal.

Potter shrugged, and raised his own wand towards the cut. "Sano." Still nothing.

Draco sighed. "Maybe you have to consciously allow the spell through for it to work?"

Potter nodded. "Try it again, then."

Draco pointed at the cut. Potter's brow was furled, and he seemed to be concentrating. "Sano." This time the cut healed instantly, leaving a faint white scar in its place. "Well, that clears that up," he muttered.

"What's your talent, Malfoy?" Potter sounded honestly curious.

Draco slumped down in the chair, putting his feet up on the Headmaster's desk. Somewhere in the back of his head, he could hear his father's voice berating him for his posture, behavior, and language, but he found oddly enough, he didn't care. It seemed more... _natural_ being casual in front of Potter. Perhaps it was just that Potter's own crass standard of behavior demanded to be answered in kind. Or maybe it had something to do with his basic charisma. Potter had a knack for making people feel at ease that Draco suspected the other boy had no knowledge of. He sometimes envied Potter that easy freedom with people, despite the Potter's lack of eloquence or elegance. People would always watch Harry Potter and the other boy didn't even realize or try and manipulate that gift. In some ways, Draco supposed, he'd always acted naturally towards Potter. After the rebuffing on the train in their first year, Draco's mission was to destroy Potter any way he could: humiliation, beatings, magic, anything and everything. Draco wondered if that was why he enjoyed seeing Potter flush so much; the response was natural and unfeigned, something totally out of place in the high class Pureblood world where image was everything. "I don't really know."

Potter sat down next to Draco and placed his head in his hands. "And here I was thinking that your talent was simply the ability to be a nasty prat." There was no malice in the tone, rather Draco thought he heard some measure of amusement.

"You know we'll have to go back out there, Potter." Draco said quietly, choosing his next words with care. "Will you be able to make it?"

"Make it without a nervous breakdown or freezing, you mean?" Potter looked up and Draco found himself staring intently into bright green eyes. Potter broke the gaze and sighed. "I can't promise anything, Malfoy, but I'll try to make what happened with Ced -" Potter's voice choked on the name. "What happened in there a one time occurrence."

Draco nodded. It was enough for now. He stood, and stretched, ignoring the twinge of pain in his ribs. Turning to the Headmaster's desk, Draco transfigured it into his large bed from Malfoy Manor. "We should probably try and get some rest before going back out there." He took off his robes and tossed them haphazardly on the chair he'd just vacated. Draco climbed into the bed and rolled over on his side so he was facing away from Potter. The room was thankfully silent and Draco closed his eyes.

The bed dipped slightly as Potter's weight was added. "Get your own bed, Potter!" Draco burst out, shocked by Potter's audacity.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter sounded amused, Draco could feel his breath on the back of his neck, "and go to sleep."

To his surprise, Draco did.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Cedric's body: Actually, that's a fairly accurate description of a decomposing corpse. If anyone actually _wants_ the medical reasons behind the description, email me or leave a review with your email address and I'll drop you a note.

Purga: this, in Latin, is the singular imperative form of "_clean_."

Tourette's Syndrome: Tourette's is a tic disorder. A tic is an involuntary, rapid, reoccurring, and non-rhythmic motor movement or vocal projection. The most famous **and least likely** occurrence of Tourette's involves the involuntary flinging of curse words. More common symptoms usually include eye-blinking, neck-jerking, shoulder-shrugging, and facial grimacing. I am in no way, shape, or form trying to make fun of this disease.

Sano: Latin for "heal"

This chapter was a bit shorter than the others, and included much more dialogue. Sorry. I just had to get all that magical theory out of the way, it's essential for a good portion of the story, especially Harry's abilities. Although I'm pulling quite a bit of it out of canon, it's basically my interpretation of the "magical rules" that Rowling herself set up. There are too many references to character and canon in relation to spells and Wizarding for me to ignore it.

As an interesting side-note to the magical theory, apparently when Rowling names her spells in the Latin, they generally take on a different form than mine do. I tend to use the imperative, or command forms, of the verbs. So, while Rowling uses "Accio," which boils down to "I summon," I would use the verb form of "Come!" To be honest, I'm not going to go back and fix the spells I've already made, and I'll probably keep to this form for consistency's sake.


	7. Looking Through the Photo Album

There were several things Draco Malfoy hated: dogs, first years, having his picture taken, bed hair, asparagus, and Harry Potter.

Given that list, Draco found waking up quite odd. He was in his bed, with Harry Potter draped over him like he was Potter's personal pillow, and _liking_ it. Potter gave off a very comfortable heat that made the bed cozy. Draco scowled, pushed him off, and sat up. Potter groaned and wrapped himself around the pillow Draco had just vacated. Draco stared down at him a minute before swinging his legs over the side and getting out of bed.

Smirking, Draco pointed the wand at the bed and returned it to its original shape, the desk. Potter yelped as suddenly he was cuddling a wand-shaped letter opener. He sat up abruptly, the motion leaving a cut on his cheek. "Malfoy," he said flatly. Draco smiled in reply.

"Better heal that, Potter," Draco waved his wand towards the cut on Potter's cheek. Potter just blinked blearily in response, before reaching up to touch his cut cheek. He noted with some amusement that the letter opener was still in Potter's hand.

As soon as the metal touched his cheek, Potter blinked at the letter opener as if he couldn't see it very well. Draco noticed that Potter wasn't wearing his glasses, so it was quite possible that he _couldn't_ see it. "Where are my glasses?" Potter asked hoarsely.

Draco shrugged. "Where did you leave them?"

"On top of my robe, I think."

Draco looked around and saw Potter's robe neatly folded up in the chair next to Draco's. On top of the black robe were Potter's glasses. Draco grabbed the glasses and handed them to Potter, who put them on. "Why am I holding a letter opener?"

Draco laughed and turned away to put on his robes. "Sano," he heard Potter say behind him, presumably healing the cut. He turned back and the cut was still there. Potter was frowning. "Can you try, Malfoy?"

Draco nodded and pointed at the cut. Potter seemed to be concentrating. "Sano," Draco said. This time the cut healed.

"Well, that's going to be a problem," Potter muttered.

"What?"

Potter stood and retrieved his own robe. "If I'm never able to cast healing spells on myself."

Draco nodded. Given Potter's predilection for trouble, both with the Weasel and the Mudblood, and on his own, it _would_ be a distinct disadvantage. "Come on Potter, we should go." He nodded and stood up.

"Do you think we should take anything with us?"

"I don't know," Draco shrugged. "Did we lose the Invisibility Cloak?"

Potter scowled. "Yes. You couldn't have managed to grab it along with me?"

"Well, it's not like it was doing any good anyway," Draco shot back, annoyed. "Diggory could see right through it!" Draco found himself slightly regretting the words as Potter's face paled.

"Fine, let's just go." Potter strode to the door, and threw it open. He stalked into the hallway and Draco followed him at a slightly more sedate pace. Potter was waiting for him with his foot tapping.

"Right or left?"

Potter shrugged. "Don't think it matters really."

Draco turned to the door they had just left and pointed his wand at it, causing a red X to appear. Potter gave him a strange look. "It's marked in case we need to come back. It seems to be one of the few safe rooms here."

"But if this is really all coming from our heads, shouldn't we be able to manipulate the rooms?"

"Theoretically, yes," Draco said. He started walking, Potter fell in step. They seemed to be heading back towards the kitchen. "But I doubt we'll be able to consciously manipulate all the rooms. Look at the room with Diggory. Neither of us wanted to be there, but we ended up in there all the same."

"Hmmm. Do you want to try another door?"

"It seems less risky than just wandering around here aimlessly. We might run into those _children_ otherwise."

"Oh **there** you two are!" Both Potter and Draco stiffened at Hansel's voice.

"Speak of the devil," he heard Potter muttering. They turned in unison to stare at the little boy. He was smiling happily at them.

"You were gone so long, Grethel and I were afraid you'd gotten lost!" Hansel said, smiling brightly. He seemed genuinely pleased to see the both of them. He had changed his clothes, and was now wearing a pair of blue-jean cut-offs and a plain white tee shirt. He seemed to be holding a red lollipop in his hand.

"More's the pity," Draco whispered under his breath. "No, we weren't lost," he said loudly.

Hansel pouted. "Then you didn't want to come back to us, did you?" Hansel stuck the lollipop in his mouth and sucked on it, his cheeks curving inward. Draco found himself faintly disgusted by the expression, a mixing of cherubic innocence and mischievous deviousness. Slowly Draco shook his head no. Potter took a step in front of Draco, shielding him with his body. Draco found himself grateful for the protection. "That's too bad. It's not safe in the house alone," Hansel spoke clearly around the lollipop and his tone became faintly menacing. Draco found himself reaching for Potter's arm to pull the other boy away before he stopped himself, scowling.

"I think we'll be fine," Potter said shortly.

"If you think that, then you are far less intelligent than I thought you'd be, Harry," the little boy replied, seemingly dropping all pretense of being either innocent or a child. He took the lollipop out of his mouth and stared at it for a minute. He popped in back in his mouth and looked nonchalantly at both Draco and Potter.

"You knew we were coming?" Draco found himself asking.

"Oh yes." Hansel nodded and started to walk forward. Both Draco and Potter stepped back quickly. Hansel frowned. "I won't hurt you." Draco snorted. "No, really." The boy smiled at them ingratiatingly. "You haven't really started yet, it would be against the rules."

"Then what _are_ you here for?" Potter asked, his brow was furled in confusion. Draco noticed that it changed the shape of his scar.

"Why don't you come into the kitchen and I'll explain." Draco looked at Potter. The black haired boy seemed to actually be considering the offer.

He quickly grabbed Potter's robe and started backing away. "Thank you for the kind offer, but _no._" The other boy started to resist, shooting Draco an annoyed look.

"But don't you want to know how to get out?" Hansel asked.

The question stopped both Draco and Potter in their tracks. The turned back to face the little boy who was grinning at them.

Draco stepped up and pointed his wand at the _thing's_ forehead. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, just follow me back to the kitchen and I'll explain the whole thing." Hansel turned and started walking away.

"I think we should follow him, Malfoy."

"No! No way! You can go with him and walk into whatever trap those little demons have set up for you, but I sure as hell will _not!_"

"Scared, Malfoy?" Potter looked scornful and crossed his hands over his chest.

"Oh leave off, Potter. I'm not stupid. You won't goad me into going with you!"

Potter laughed. "Perhaps then I should just go alone, get the full story, escape, and leave you to stew in your own mess then?"

Draco scowled. Potter was right in that; if those two little whatever they were knew what was going on, their information would most likely lead to the way out of the trap. But that didn't mean he was going to make it easy for the scarred boy. Draco mirrored Potter's own pose. "Or maybe I should just let you walk into that trap, escape on my own, and leave you to die an excruciating death?"

"I say, Malfoy, I think you get less witty as time goes on."

"Coming from you, Potter, that's not saying much."

Potter sighed, and dropped his aggressive stance to run his hands through his hair. The infamous Potter hair seemed to get even messier with the action. "Look, Malfoy," to Draco's mixed surprise and amusement, Potter seemed to be pleading with him, "we don't have time to argue on this. Look, this may be the only chance we have for information. We should go."

Draco studied Potter. He seemed truly earnest, his black hair framing his face, green eyes blazing in the dim light. He had his right hand, his _wand hand_, open in front of him. Potter was biting his lip. "I'll watch your back, you watch mine," Potter finally offered, turning his hand slightly.

"What, like _friends_?" Draco wanted to spit out the words at Potter, rebuff him once again, but instead they came out subdued.

Potter shrugged a bit, once again offering Draco his hand. "If that's what it takes."

"I don't know if that's a very good idea, Potter."

"Oh for god's sake, Draco, just say yes. We can work the details out later. Right now I think survival is a bit more important than a schoolboy duel!" Potter took a deep, calming breath. "Besides, if we get to know each other, you never know, we might actually start to like each other."

"What's your favorite color?"

"Blue," Potter answered, surprised. Draco sighed and took Potter's hand. The other boy's touch was surprisingly warm, and his palm was slightly damp. They shook firmly, once, twice, three times before Draco pulled back. Potter looked at him oddly. "Why'd you ask me about my favorite color?"

"Isn't that how people become friends? Get to know each other before they decide? Besides, you're the one who brought up getting to know each other. I just figured we out to start small."

"Decide what?"

"To be friends."

Potter shrugged. "I suppose it's different for everyone. With Ron we decided to be friends immediately and then started to get to know each other later. With Hermione, we got to know her, and _then_ became her friend." He turned and started walking towards the kitchen. Draco watched him for a moment, before jogging to catch up with him. "What about you? How'd you become friends with Crabbe and Goyle?"

"We grew up together." Draco didn't think it would be a very good idea to elaborate. Besides, given Potter's definition of the word, he highly doubted Crabbe and Goyle counted as "friends." He never even called them by their first names.

"All right then... What's _your_ favorite color?"

"Look, Potter -"

"Harry."

"Harry, I really don't think we have time for this." Draco pointed ahead of them where Hansel was leaning against the doorframe and tapping his foot impatiently.

"Are you coming in here, or not?" Hansel called out. He sounded highly irritated.

Harry smiled, and of all things, reached over and squeezed Draco's shoulder reassuringly. Draco rolled his eyes and Harry laughed at his expression. "If anything comes at it, just stay behind me and shoot nasty spells at it, okay?" Harry leaned in and whispered.

Draco sighed at him in exasperation. "You never make things easy do you?"

"Of course not. It's never easy, that's why it's called a relationship." Harry smiled faintly and walked into the kitchen. Hansel was glowering at him, and Draco raised his wand.

"Oh, just get in here," Hansel said, sounding distinctly annoyed. Draco walked into the kitchen and was pleased to note that it hadn't changed since he and Harry had left. Hansel pointed at the seats that Harry and Draco had been in earlier. "Sit." They did, and quickly.

"Don't do that again," Draco hissed.

"Do what?" Hansel asked with an angelic expression.

"Oh not now," Harry broke in. "Just explain what's going on. Where _are_ we? What are you? How do we get out?"

Hansel held up a hand in a stopping gesture. "You each get one question. That's as much of a hint as I can give."

Draco looked over at Harry, and nodded at him, intending for Harry to ask his question first. "Where are we?" Draco raised his eyebrows, surprised by Harry's guile. By asking for location first, if either Harry or Draco recognized where they were, there was a much better chance that one of them might know the way to get out. If they already knew the way out, then of course Draco wouldn't have to waste his second question.

"You're in a shadow dimension, one of several, actually. It's only accessible through one object, the gingerbread house that brought you here," Hansel answered quickly.

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Harry asked suspiciously. He looked at Draco and gave him a quick shake of his head, as if to tell Draco that he had no clue how to get out. Yet another example of that Gryffindor subtlety.

Hansel smirked at Harry and leaned over to pat his hands, which were laced together tightly on top of the table. "No, no, no! You only get one question! Unless, of course, you want that to be _his_ question!"

"Oh, no, that's okay," Harry replied quickly waving his hands in a warding gesture. Draco kept his mouth firmly shut, if Harry could get himself into this alone, then he could damn well get himself out.

"Fine then," Hansel seemed disappointed, sticking his lower lip out, the picture of wounded innocence.

"How do we get out?" Draco asked simply.

"Oh, that's the easy part!" Hansel said brightly. Draco felt something heavy drop into his stomach, he prayed vaguely it was one of Harry's sandwiches and not a general feeling of foreboding. "There's a door on the third floor. You walk through it, you escape."

Draco sighed and reached up to rub his forehead. He felt a headache coming on. He looked over at Harry. "Somehow I get the feeling it's not that simple." He turned back to Hansel. "Would you care to elaborate on that?"

Hansel glared. "I don't want to, where's the fun in that?" Hansel smiled and adopted a pompous tone. Draco found himself reminded of the Weasel Head Boy they had a few years back. "Besides, that's technically a second question."

"No, _technically,_" Draco mimicked Hansel's tone, "it's related to the first question, therefore still valid."

Hansel stamped his foot on the floor, looking royally annoyed. "Fine. There are three floors. Each floor has four doors. You have to open the doors, face what's inside. If you make it through the four doors, then you meet the one in charge of the floor." Hansel smiled and Draco suddenly realized.

"You, Grethel and your grandmother are the ones in control aren't you?"

Hansel just beamed, and Draco took that response as a very definite yes. He glanced over at Harry, who was rubbing his forehead. Draco felt a perverse bit of satisfaction that he wasn't suffering alone. "Well, that was decidedly unhelpful." Harry was scowling; the look seemed strange to Draco. He wondered if that was because it was trained on someone else.

"I am helpful!" Hansel sounded vaguely wounded. Harry and Draco snorted in unison before shooting each other confused looks. "Fine, I'll give you two freebies. Two of the doors lead to things you fear, one of the doors is a safe haven, and the fourth door, well, we don't know where it goes. Could be to certain death!" Hansel was positively beaming.

"A door to certain death." Harry's voice was flat.

"Whoever created this handy pocket dimension really needs to lay off the melodrama," Draco said to Harry wryly, who nodded in reply, a small smile on his face. "What's the other hint?" Draco asked, turning back to Hansel.

Hansel produced another lollipop and stuck it in his mouth. "I changed my mind," he pouted. "You aren't properly respectful. I think I'll stop being nice to you, now get out of my kitchen."

"Are the rooms we've already been in completed?" Draco asked.

"I'm not telling! You'll have to look and see for yourself," Hansel said spitefully before disappearing.

Draco looked over at Harry, who had gone deathly pale. Come to think of it, Draco wasn't all that eager to open the door to the graveyard again either. "Well, Potter, I suppose we should get moving. We'll check the Headmaster's Office first, if it's still there, we can almost safely assume that..." Draco trailed off as Harry seemed to grow even paler. "You _promised._"

Draco's reminder seemed to snap Harry out of his trance. He jerked visibly and looked at the blond as if he had never seen him before. Harry was still pale, and Draco could see both of his hands shaking, but his eyes showed resolve. He vaguely recognized the expression from when Weasel Jr.'s kidnapping was announced in the Great Hall during dinner. The Weasel had not been present, presumably with his family. The Mudblood and Harry had been and while the Mudblood had seemed genuinely shocked and surprised, Harry... Harry had been different. Draco had watched the range of emotions play across his face: shock, fear, anger, and finally resolve. The last had ended up almost exactly as Harry looked now. "Right. Let's go then."

"After you, Harry," Draco said politely. Harry shot him a look.

"You know, _Draco,_ it's odd to see you being so nice. And calling me by my first name. What changed your mind? Why did you decide to stop being a nasty prat?"

Draco sighed. "I was never a nasty prat, Potter. You just never agreed with my superior opinions, so labeled me as such."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't start."

Draco look at him innocently, eyes as wide as he could make them. "Start what?" Harry just looked at him for a few minutes before bursting into laughter. Draco wasn't quite sure what to make of Harry's reaction. When the other boy had calmed down a bit, Draco continued. "You asked me to call you by your first name."

"You mean, after six years of constant bickering, the only thing I would have had to do to stop it was _ask you to call me by my first name_?" Harry seemed both amused and astonished, but thankfully refrained from laughter.

Draco shook his head. "It's not that simple, Potter, and you know it." Draco took a deep breath. "You're right." The words came out in a rush, and Draco could see that Harry had almost missed them.

"Oh, I know that. Right about what in particular?"

Draco scowled. "You're right in that we won't be able to get out of here alone. The less we fight, the more we work together, the better chance of survival we have. I need you." Harry's eyebrows shot up and an odd expression came over his face, one that seemed incredibly familiar to Draco, but he couldn't quite put a name on it. "I need your power," Draco elaborated, and the expression dropped off Harry's face replaced by a quickly stifled look of disappointment. Draco filed that away for further study when neither of them were trapped in a shadow dimension. "Just like you'll need my powers to get out."

Harry cocked his head to the left slightly and studied Draco. "So you decided to be my friend out of self-preservation, then?"

"Of course," Draco replied, somewhat confused by the question. "Didn't you do the same?"

"You're being awfully honest. I can't say that it seems in character for you." Draco looked at Harry, honestly surprised. He hadn't expected the Gryffindor to think him dishonest. Trusting was one of Harry's character traits, it seemed odd that he would lose it _now._ "You expected me to trust you straight away, didn't you? No fuss, no mess." Harry said, surprising Draco further. He hadn't thought Harry could read him so easily. Harry shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. Especially for you, **Malfoy**." Harry emphasized Draco's last name as if it was the one true answer. "You have to earn it."

"And how does a **Malfoy** go about earning a Potter's trust, then?" Draco spat back. He found that he didn't really feel angry, in a way, he actually quite respected Harry's caution. It was almost Slytherin of him. But it also worried him a bit, if Harry was picked up some of the ingrained Slytherin traits, who knew how Draco would be acting before they got out. Would _he_ be the one throwing himself in front of the Killing Curse? Draco felt a small tremor run through him at the thought.

"The same way you have been: telling the truth, not fighting with me, giving me information as you find it."

"Doesn't sound much like what friends do."

"No, but we're not quite friends yet, Draco. I told you it wasn't that easy."

"Few things are."

"Not if they're important." Draco opened his mouth to answer that and realized that he had absolutely nothing to say. Harry sighed. "Never mind, let's just go before our little friend comes back and decides to kick us out."

Draco nodded, and the pair of them walked into the hallway. It had changed again. While still unrecognizable, the multitude of doors had disappeared leaving just four: two on the right side and two on the left. To Draco's dismay, none of the four doors had the mark they left behind. "You pick."

Harry shook his head emphatically. "Oh no, I picked the last room. After you, Draco."

Draco glared at Harry who looked unrepentant. "Oh, fine." Draco randomly pointed to the second door on the left. "That one."

Harry reached out and placed his hand on the doorknob. "Are you sure?"

"Well, if you don't want to trust my judgment, then pick one yourself!" Draco snapped.

Harry smirked. "What was that I just said about trust, Malfoy?"

"Is this a trick question?"

"No, Draco, it isn't." Harry dropped the smirk and looked at Draco seriously. "Be ready."

"Always am, Potter." Draco raised his wand and instantly thought of several nasty hexes to use. Harry moved so that he was standing on the right of the door, and Draco moved to the left. Once again, Draco felt himself starting to respect Harry's guile, it seemed there was far more to the Gryffindor than blind luck. Although Draco was rather sure that luck was still a large factor.

Harry swung the door open slowly, allowing both Draco to look in but Harry to move so that he wasn't trapped behind the door. It was the Headmaster's Office. Draco let out a breath of air that he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Looks like we found the safe room on this floor." Harry nodded.

"Thankfully. I hope you're right about..."

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right," Draco said haughtily bringing a small smile onto Harry's face. "We'll have to check the next room though," he sighed. Harry nodded.

"I suppose it's my turn to pick." He slammed the door shut and used his wand to mark the door with a red "S". "They moved once, who says they won't do it again?"

Draco studied the mark and felt his lips twitch. "If you wanted 'S' for 'Slytherin,' I would have thought green might be a better color. Besides, we did mark the door once already."

Harry looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. "That's 'S' for 'Safe,' idiot. And red is a perfectly good color. And it's worth a try," Harry said. He closed his eyes and spun in a circle on one foot with his arm stretched out. "So, which door do you think I'm pointing at?" Harry had ended up pointing somewhere in between the doors. Draco studied Harry's finger, and pointed to the door on the right.

"That one, I think."

Harry nodded. "All right." They repeated their positions and slowly opened the door. Draco peered in, but couldn't see anything beyond a very thick mist. The gray fog was seemed thich enough that Draco might be able to grab a handful of it. It would be quite easy to get lost in the mess.

"Maybe we have to go in?" he offered. "Before whatever it is appears?"

"Maybe. But somehow I don't think so. Remember the graveyard? It was there before we went into the room. I think that fog -"

"And what's in it!" Draco muttered, interrupting the black-haired boy.

Harry glared at him for a moment before continuing as if the interruption hadn't happened. "I think that fog may _be_ the nightmare. It looks pretty nasty." Harry took a deep breath and stepped inside, Draco followed. He raised his hand in front of his face, starting at the full extension and pulling in. The mist was so thick he literally couldn't see his hand in front of his face when it reached his nose. It was a disconcerting feeling, almost what Draco would thing total blindness felt like. "I can't see anything in here!" Harry reached out and grabbed Draco's hand. "We can't afford to be separated in this."

"If you can't see anything, Potter, how did you grab my hand?" Draco asked, hoping that it really _was_ Harry and not something else.

"I didn't think you'd moved, so I reached out and grabbed the air where your hand would have been." Draco felt both annoyed and reassured by the answer: reassured because it was Harry, and annoyed that Harry's Seeker reflexes were just that good.

Draco looked down at where he presumed their hands to be. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder about you, Potter." Draco raised his wand and conjured a short magical rope, long enough to keep them from tripping on each other's heels, but short enough that they wouldn't get seperated in times of trouble. "Harry, can you reach around and find the end of the rope?" He waited a few moments looking around nervously at the thick fog, feeling the tug and pull on his arm through Harry's hand.

"Yes, I've got it."

"It's connected to my wand. Tie it to something on you."

Draco felt Harry let go of his hand, and waited some more. The longer he spent in the mist, the less he liked it. Even the sounds seemed to be deadened. "Done. It's tied around my waist. Well, let's get moving!" Seemed as if the ever-brave Gryffindor felt the same way Draco did.

"After you," Draco offered graciously.

"I didn't expect anything else."

Draco followed into the fog where he felt his wand tugging. The fog seemed incrediably oppresive, like it was closing in on Draco. He resisted the urge to wave his hands to try and clear some of the mist in front of him away. If moving through the fog didn't displace it then his hands wouldn't help either. He decided to try talking to Harry, it would help them both from getting nervous and twitchy. Plus the sound orientation would help him if something did attack. If he could pinpoint Harry by sound, then Draco wouldn't be throwing hexes at the Gryffindor instead of the attacker. "So, Harry, is this your nightmare, or mine?"

There was no answer to Draco's question.

"Harry?" Still nothing. Draco stopped walking, waiting to feel the pull of the rope drag him on. "This is not a joke, Potter. Say something." Draco tugged on the rope. There was no resistance as he pulled it close to him. "Harry?" Draco had reached the end of the rope, there was nothing and no one attached to it.

He flicked his wand, releasing the rope and placing it against his throat. "Sonorus." He took a deep breath and shouted with all his might. "HARRY!"

There was nothing. Not even an echo.

"This is not good."

* * *

Author's Notes:

No actual notes this chapter. Shocker. This is the one of the shortest chapters to date, but I'm still rather happy with it. I moved quite a bit information along in a short time.

I did want to make a quick note to all the people who asked about Draco's innate powers: just because _Draco_ doesn't know what they are doesn't mean that they aren't working. In fact, you see quite a bit of it in this chapter and the previous one. Take a stab at it. Hermione's talent, which has been hinted at rather heavily, will be revealed in the next chapter I think.

Yes, next chapter takes us outside the house. Stay tuned for more wackiness.


	8. Company for Dinner

Jordan Avery and Charles Lestrange had introduced Severus Snape to Lord Voldemort. Lucius Malfoy's actions in 1978 had forced Severus to go running back to Dumbledore in a feeble attempt at escape, to try and stop the monster that he had helped to create. In his more private and cynical moments, usually after teaching his Seventh year Gryffindor/Slytherin Potions class, Severus realized that he still agreed with most of the tenets of being a Death Eater: separation from Muggles, superiority of purebloods, Potter should have been drowned at birth.

Then he remembered Voldemort's methods.

The worst part of his "redemption," he supposed, was Potter. The boy simply could not stay out of trouble. At first, Severus had been more than willing to believe (on his off time of course) that Potter's ability was latent. Then as he got older, that changed. Potter started jumping into things all on his own, without fear or thought of the consequences. Such as his heroics with the youngest Weasley.

And now this most recent escapade.

Severus sighed, tapping his fingers on the desk. He hoped that Potter wasn't taking Draco with him on this particular "adventure." Or perhaps, given the circumstances surrounding their disappearance, Severus hoped that Draco wasn't taking _Potter_ on this adventure.

"Severus?" A light tenor accompanied the knock at his office door.

"What?" he snarled at the voice. Remus stuck his head inside and raised an eyebrow at his tone.

"No wonder you never get any visitors."

"What do you want?"

"I'm dropping off some information. According to Neville Longbottom, there was a patch of Protean Flowers near where Malfoy and Harry were fighting. It's possible we could get spell residue off of it."

"I'm familiar with the flower, Remus. Get on with it."

"I was wondering if you'd be the one to go gather them." Remus stepped into the office a laid a piece of paper on Severus's desk. He looked at it. "Neville gave me instructions."

"The day I listen to Neville Longbottom's instructions is the day I willingly wear pink lingerie and dance a tango with Voldemort in the Hogwarts dining hall." Remus laughed at that a bit.

"Well, we're off to the library, then. I'll leave you to your," Remus looked pointedly at Severus's empty desk, "work."

"We? You mean you and your multiple personalities?"

Remus laughed, rather than the scowl Severus had been expecting. The man was quite odd. "I'm helping Granger and Weasley in the library."

Severus sneered. "Well, with Granger on the task, I'm sure you'll find something. Whether it connects at all to what we're looking for is another matter entirely."

"I have the utmost faith in Granger's abilities. It wouldn't surprise me if she knew the library better than Irma."

Severus rolled his eyes. "We're not here to argue about the abilities of our students. Get out of my office." He stood, glared down at the instructions on his desk, and swept past Remus.

"Don't you want to know where the flowers are?"

He turned around and smirked. "No, I'm going to have Longbottom get them. _I_ have to talk to the Headmaster."

He stalked off toward the Headmaster's Office. The last thing he intended was to be ordered around by the likes of Lupin. Severus could handle civility, and if circumstances had been different, Lupin might have been something resembling a friend. But of course, Sirius Black and James Potter had gotten in the way.

"Severus!" He rolled his eyes and turned back to .

"What?"

"I left the house in Albus's office." Severus nodded his thanks and stalked off.

Reaching the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's Office, Severus found himself confronted by a rather agitated Ginny Weasley. She was kicking the gargoyle. Severus found himself rather impressed by the quality of her shoes, given the fact that she hadn't stopped the assault. "Open! Up! Damn you!"

"That will be _enough,_ Miss Weasley." The girl jumped and turned to glare at Severus, who just raised an eyebrow in reply.

"I need to see the Headmaster."

"I could have deduced that myself, Miss Weasley. 10 points from Gryffindor for insulting a professor's intelligence." Weasley's glare intensified. "I might recommend that you approach Professor McGonagall first."

"I don't have time."

"And what might be so pressing that you have to damage school property? And while I'm thinking of it, 30 points form Gryffindor for that as well." Severus gave her a tight smile, seeing her hands clench. It was good to be a teacher.

"It's about Harry, sir."

"You know something about Potter?" He scowled at her, recalling the incident five years before.

"I'm not going to tell _you,_ sir." Weasley's eyes darted to Severus's arm, where his robes hid the mark. It seemed someone had been telling tales in the student body. He wondered if it was a sign that Voldemort was slowly accepting his loyalty, or a sign that security was getting lax in the Order. He grabbed Weasley's arm, quietly gave the password, and walked into Albus's office.

"Professor?"

"Ah, Severus, Miss Weasley. What can I do for you?"

"Miss Weasley says she has information regarding Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy's disappearance," Severus hissed.

"And what information do you have?" Dumbledore leaned forward, Severus could see a glint in his eyes. He briefly wondered if this would be another time in which Dumbledore knew more than what he was willing to say.

Weasley gulped a little, and looked down at the floor. She whispered something. "You'll have to repeat that, Miss Weasley," Severus said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. If they were going to get anywhere, he knew he'd have to stop terrifying the girl.

"I said, You-Know-Who has him." Severus studied the girl. She was one of the few people actually competent in Potions. Not necessarily a natural, like her twin brothers, but good enough to pass without help. Which meant that Severus himself had never really paid any attention to her. The mediocre students usually slipped through his gaze, overshadowed by the Longbottoms and the Potters of the classroom. Consequently, he didn't know her as well as he probably should, given her chosen group of friends. He felt his upper lip curl into a slight sneer as he pictured Potter.

"How do you know that, Miss Weasley?" Dumbledore asked. He was leaning ever farther forward in his chair. Anymore and Severus imagined he would fall out. Weasley, still staring fixedly at the ground, didn't notice. She reached into the pocket of her robes, and pulled out a slip of paper.

"This came in the Owl Post this morning, sir." Handing the paper to Dumbledore, she stepped back, out of Severus's reach. "I...I have to go back to class." Weasley dashed out of the door. Severus watched the door, considering. Seeing a Weasley running away wasn't the most common of events.

"What does it say?" He finally asked the Headmaster.

"It's a riddle, I believe." Albus cleared his throat and began to read. "_Go, ye heroes, go to glory, though you die in combat gory, ye shall live in song and story. Go to immortality!._"

Severus found himself stumped. "And Miss Weasley was able to relate this to Voldemort how exactly?"

"In her first year, Miss Weasley came into the possession of Tom Riddle's diary. He infused a bit of himself into her in order to live. I have the sneaking suspicion that Miss Weasley knows far more about Voldemort than anyone living besides Harry and Voldemort himself."

Severus snorted. "Unlikely." He folded himself up in the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. "She knows Tom Riddle. Voldemort isn't exactly Tom Riddle. The magical transformations he went through changed him." He tapped the fingers of his right hand against the arm of the chair. Something bothered him about the note. "Besides, sending a riddle like that isn't the Dark Lord's style."

Dumbledore nodded slightly, and stared at him. Severus could see his eyebrows raise slightly in what was probably meant to be an interrogative gesture. "Who do you think it is, then?"

"The Dark Lord prefers to taunt his victims in person. If he had Potter he wouldn't waste time with riddles. Most likely, his time would be spent judiciously casting Cruciatus on the boy. And if he wanted to taunt us, it would be much more direct: a Howler full of screams, for example. If not Potter's dead body in front of the Ministry of Magic for all to see." Severus paused and considered. "Voldemort may be arrogant, but he's not stupid. He's never been stupid."

"Tom Riddle was the Head Boy during his time here."

Severus snorted. "That surprises me not at all." He rubbed his forearm slightly. "I don't suspect that after his past dealings with Potter that Voldemort will be doing much talking when they meet again."

"So you think this trap, while it may be on Voldemort's behalf, was not executed by Voldemort himself?"

Severus glared at the Headmaster. "Don't insult my intelligence, Albus. You realized that as soon as Miss Weasley handed you a note and not a letter or a formal challenge."

Dumbledore laughed. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Regardless, I would prefer you to make up your own mind on the matter. Who do you think is behind this?"

Severus made sure to intensify his glare. He absolutely hated it when the Headmaster tried his manipulation games on him. "Considering the source, Lucius Malfoy, of course. I also think the plot blew up in his face, and that's why the note. He may not have many redeeming qualities, but he does care about Draco. And when Draco was sucked into whatever was planned for Potter, Lucius is trying to scramble and protect himself on two fronts: protect himself from Voldemort's retribution at a failed and unbidden plan, and get his son back in relatively good condition."

The Headmaster nodded slightly again, and picked up his wand. With a wave, a tray of sandwiches and tea appeared. "There's liverwurst and onion, just as you like." Dumbledore gestured toward the tray.

"Albus, I _hate_ liverwurst. We go through this every time."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and laughed quietly. Severus could see the damnable twinkle in the man's eyes that always infuriated him as a student. "I'm teasing you, Severus," the man said gently. He picked up a sandwich and held it out. "Ham and provolone, plain, and heated."

Severus studied the sandwich for a moment. He _had_ missed breakfast. He stood, and took the offering. "Thank you, Albus." He sat back down and took a bite. "Lupin told me he left the house here?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Sirius brought it to me earlier this morning." Severus held back a snarl at the dog's name. "I assume you want to investigate it?"

"Of course. I prepared several potions last night for just this situation." He studied the older man for a moment. Dumbledore's face was blank, and Severus had the sneaking suspicion that the Headmaster was holding something back from him. "Have you tested it yourself?"

"I have run the house through a few simple charms. As far as I can tell, it is just as it appears: a simple gingerbread house. Quite delicious looking, I even noticed a few lemon drops as decoration!" Severus rolled his eyes, the man simply could _not_ get past his obsession with candy. It put even _his_ sweet tooth to shame. "The house does seem to be under an unbreakable shrinking charm."

Severus cocked his head to the side. The Headmaster was voluntarily giving information. Unasked. He was _definitely_ hiding something. "May I see it?"

"Of course!" Dumbledore shuffled papers around on his desk, muttering to himself quietly. "Aha!" He said triumphantly, digging the house out from under a small stack of documents from the Ministry.

"Are you sure it's safe to be touching it, Albus?"

"Yes, that was the first test I ran. The spell, now that it has been activated, is dormant. For all intensive purposes, that is just a gingerbread house."

Severus reached over and took the house from Dumbledore's hand. The man was right, it did look delicious, and fit very comfortably in the palm of his hand. He suspected that Draco had cast the shrinking spell thinking that the house would be easier to conceal the smaller it was. He held up his wand, pointed it at his eyes, and cast a spell. "Videre." Blinking a bit as Severus adjusted to the influx of bright lights, he once again studied the house. There were traces of the warm yellow of Dumbledore's magic. Beneath that was a surprisingly strong layer of a muddy mauve color that Severus knew belonged to Draco. And underneath that was a very faint layer of... Severus squinted. "Have you ever heard of anyone with a magical strain that's black streaked with gold before, Albus?" He raised his wand back to his face. "Finite Incantatum."

"No, I haven't. I assume the purple strands are Mr. Malfoy's?"

Severus nodded. "Could the black-gold strain be Potter?"

Dumbledore shrugged slightly. "It's possible. He's never shown those colors before, and you of all people should know how rare it is for a person's magical strain to change. Most likely the strain comes from the person who created the house."

Severus sighed, and nodded. "Perhaps." He studied the house a few moments longer. "Draco's spell seems unusually strong. Could they be linked to the house somehow?"

"The only way to know for sure is to dispel the magic surrounding the house."

"And that's why you have Lupin, Granger, and Weasley in the library, isn't it? You're not sure how the magic can be dispelled without potentially losing Potter and Draco." Dumbledore nodded approvingly, and Severus suddenly felt as if he was back in school and the Headmaster was about to give him 5 points to Slytherin. "I should go. I'll do as much testing as I can before my first class."

"Report what you find out directly to me and to Lupin." Severus stood and walked out of the office, still holding the house in his hands.

Once outside, he nearly ran into someone. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Severus found himself wondering if he'd be able to get _any_ work done. "Severus." He broke out of his thoughts and looked properly at the person he had bumped into. "Just one of the men I wanted to see."

"Hello Lucius. I'm afraid the Headmaster is busy right now. Why don't we go to my office and talk?" Severus tried to head off Lucius before he made it inside. "I'm sure there's much you can tell me about this," he held out the house, watching for any change of expression. Lucius's sneer dropped minutely.

"Yes. Let's." Lucius turned swiftly and began strolling toward Severus's office, having been there many times before. Lucius was one of his oldest friends; they had known each other since before Hogwarts. Victims of too many dinner parties, Lucius and Severus had grown close out of a sense of self-preservation. It was either make friends, and Lucius was usually the only one Severus's age present, or behave badly by doing something uncouth like falling asleep at the dinner table. They had found that by working together, Severus planning, and Lucius acting, they could usually accomplish anything they put their minds to. A few pranks had certainly livened up the dinner parties.

They also caught the eye of Tom Riddle.

The friendship had continued until Hogwarts, when Lucius drifted away, falling in with new friends. Severus just found other things to occupy his time: the study of Dark Arts, Potions, harassing the Gryffindors James Potter and Sirius Black. In their Sixth year, shortly after the Shrieking Shack incident, Lucius approached Severus and welcomed him into his new circle. He became fairly good friends with Jordan Avery, and through him Charles Lestrange, who was working for the Ministry at that time.

And once again, Severus found himself in the eye of Tom Riddle.

Disillusioned by the world around him, the prejudice against Slytherins, the needless banning of Dark Arts, Severus joined the Death Eaters before he left Hogwarts.

Even now, twenty years later, Severus was ashamed of that: he was a killer before he turned seventeen.

The pair reached Severus's office, and took their seats. He placed the house carefully on the top of his desk. "So, Lucius, what do you know about this?"

"It's a small gingerbread house, any fool can see that," Lucius replied coolly. Obviously he had decided that he was going to play this one close to his chest.

"That house is what was left behind when Draco disappeared."

Lucius sneered. "I was given to understand that he wasn't the only one to disappear."

Severus nodded. "Yes. Another student was caught with him."

"That's the same thing you told the Dark Lord. Care to elaborate?"

"Potter."

"So, my Draco and _Harry Potter_ disappeared together. On Hogwarts grounds. And as far as I can see, nothing is being done to try and retrieve them."

"On the contrary, Lucius," Severus sneered back, "great efforts are being made. In fact, I was just about to take the house to my workroom and test it when I," he looked Lucius up and down, "ran into you."

"Ah." Severus noticed that Lucius's right hand was tapping against his knee slightly. The blond had never been very good at concealing his emotions; there were always clues if one knew where to look. "Proceed." Severus just stared at him in response. This was a game he always won, to see who broke and spoke first. "I want to know the results as soon as possible, staying here for the testing is the quickest way."

"Actually, Lucius, the quickest way would be for you to simply tell me what you know."

Lucius smiled. "What would be the fun in that?"

Severus scowled at his old friend and stood. He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a bit of Floo powder. Lighting the dormant fire, he threw it in. "Headmaster?"

After a few minutes of waiting, Dumbledore's head appeared. "What can I do for you, Severus?"

"I just wanted to inform you that Lucius Malfoy has arrived and wishes to speak to you about his son's disappearance."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I see. I shall be happy to talk to you in my office, Mr. Malfoy. I believe you know the way?" he addressed Lucius.

"I will be there shortly, Headmaster." Dumbledore's head nodded again, smiled, and disappeared from the fire. Lucius stood. "There is more going on here than you think, Severus." With that, the blond turned and stalked out of Severus's office.

"That was cryptic," he found himself muttering. While he was usually anything but direct, Lucius had never been one to dissemble in quite a fashion. He glanced at his clock and snarled. Experiments would have to wait for later, he was due in his first class. Gryffindor/Slytherin Seventh years. Which meant Longbottom's disasters, Gryffindor chatter, and perhaps a fight if Granger and Weasley were actually present.

At least he could take points and give them a detention for not showing up if they weren't there. It might not improve the day, but it was a fairly good start. He walked to his Potions cabinet, where he kept the more volatile of ingredients, as well as Potions that none of the students should have in their grubby little hands and said the spell to unlock it. Storing the house inside, he shut it, reapplied the locking spell and walked to his classroom.

He arrived slightly late to the class and found the students sitting quietly. They seemed slightly subdued, Severus attributed it to the loss of their leaders, Draco and Potter. "As the N.E.W.T.s are coming up this year, we will be spending a good portion of our time reviewing until you know these potions from memory. Which means, if you fail now, _Longbottom,_ you _will_ fail then. Today, we will be making a simple Aggrastat." He glared at the students; the Gryffindors seemed cowed and the Slytherins just smiled.

Severus sat down at his desk, staring at a pile of Third year essays he needed to grade. Suddenly a wave of pain washed through his arm.

Voldemort was summoning him.

He resisted the urge to flinch at the pain, stood, and left the room. Flitwick would be closest, just upstairs. Carefully he walked to Flitwick's office and knocked. "Come in!" Flitwick, who was doing some grading off his own, looked up in surprise at Severus' entrance.

"Filius, I need to see Poppy," Severus lied smoothly, clutching his arm not only to help his cover, but also to help with the pain. "Would you watch my class?"

Flitwick eyed his papers thoughtfully before nodding. "On one condition, you give me a bottle of that scotch you have hidden away."

Severus sighed. That scotch was one of the few things he had managed to save from his childhood home. "All right," he ground out through his teeth. "Seventh year Gryffindor/Slytherin," he informed the tiny professor, who winced. Severus allowed himself a small smile, and headed toward Dumbledore's office. Thankfully, Lucius had left. Severus assumed _that_ little visit was probably the reason for the Dark Lord's call.

"I didn't expect to see you back so quickly," Dumbledore said as he walked in.

"Summons. Flitwick has the class."

"Be safe."

Severus sneered, he was always as safe as one could be in the presence of the Dark Lord, but he still nodded in acknowledgement of the Headmaster's concern. He turned to the portrait of Gawain Guthpike, a Headmaster from the 1600s, and said the password. The portrait swung open to reveal a passage that lead to the Forbidden Forest, just beyond the Apparition wards around Hogwarts. He started down the passage quickly, planning what he would ask Voldemort, and indirectly, Lucius about the disappearance.

As soon as he exited, Severus centered himself, and Apparated to the source of the summons. The rest of the circle wasn't present. Standing before Voldemort was Lucius Malfoy and a small, cloaked figure Severus didn't recognize. It was too short to be Draco, but there was the possibility that the figure was one of the other Slytherins.

A private meeting with the Dark Lord was _never_ a good thing.

"Ah, Severus, good of you to join us so _quickly,_" the Dark Lord hissed. Severus quickly bowed as formally as could.

"I am at your service, my lord."

"Lucius tells me you have been busy at Hogwarts?"

Severus resisted the urge to flinch. "I have been working at recruiting, my lord. As well as mapping the full scope of the school's defenses in order to successfully lead an attack."

Voldemort laughed. Severus really did flinch. "I'm _sure_ you are, Severus." He brought his wand out of his cloak and began twirling between the fingers of his right hand. "Tell me about Harry Potter."

"What do you need to know about him, my lord?" Severus tried to redirect.

Voldemort laughed again, and stopped twirling his wand. It was now pointing directly at Severus. "He has disappeared. I have been informed that _you_ had something to do with that." Severus heard a hissing sound behind him, it seems as if Nagini had arrived.

"No, my lord. I had nothing to do with the disappearance of Potter and _Malfoy's son_." Severus emphasized the second name in hopes of deflecting the Dark Lord's anger. "I have been charged by," Severus mentally sighed and made a mental note to follow up on what he was about to say publicly, "that old fool to find them both."

The Dark Lord stared at Severus, considering. He met the gaze without flinching. While he knew that he would be punished for presumption, the Dark Lord was more likely to believe him without the use of spells or potions this way. Plus, it gave him the nice thrill of satisfaction that Lucius would be suffering with him. "Crucio," Voldemort said simply. He ended the spell relatively quickly, only letting the pain last until Severus had dropped to his knees. "You didn't tell me your son had disappeared with Potter, Lucius."

"I arranged for Potter to be taken to a safe place, I did not expect my Draco to be taken with him." Severus sneered at the other man. _"My_ Draco?" Lucius would have a nasty surprise coming if he ever said something like that around Draco himself.

"And why did you not see fit to inform me of this _plan,_" Voldemort used the most disparaging voice possible, "before now?"

"I am sorry, my lord."

"You certainly are, Lucius. Crucio." Severus smirked as Voldemort held Lucius under the curse for a much longer time than he had Severus. After disengaging the curse, he turned back to Severus. "Find Potter. Bring him to me. I need him alive."

"I do not mean to question you, my lord, but why do you want Potter alive?" Severus asked slowly.

"You always were too curious for your own good. You will be contacted at Hogwarts."

"Yes, my lord," Severus sighed. No answers for today. Typical.

"Take Lucius and get out of my sight."

"Yes, my lord." Severus scowled at Lucius's unconscious form, grabbed him, and Apparated to Malfoy Manor.

He was going to get answers from the blond if he had to use Veritaserum to do it.

* * *

Author's Notes:

_ Videre:_ to see, or reveal. In this case, Snape is using the spell to sell the magical essence around the house.

The magical aura colors: getting most of my meaning from reiki theory. For those of you less inclined to research, I'll give a brief explanation of the colors I've used in this chapter.

Yellow, or the color of Dumbledore's magic, is one of the first and easiest colors to see in reiki. It's the color of mental activity, it reflects new opportunities for leaning, lightness, wisdom, and intellect. Pale yellows usually indicate optimism, while darker shades can reflect excessive thinking and a dogmatic approach to life.

Mauve, which is a sort of deep purple, and is Draco's color. Purples represent blending of the heart and the mind, the physical with the spiritual. It reflects independence and intuition, as well as dynamic and important dream activity. It can reflect one who is searching. The purple shades often reflect an ability to handle affairs with practicality and worldliness. Darker purples indicate a great strength of will, and muddy shades generally reflect a need to overcome something, as well as erotic imaginations (which is not the case here, I just threw the intrepetation in because it amuses me), tendencies to be overbearing, feeling misunderstood, and needing sympathy.

Black streaked with gold: No, I'm not going to say whom this belongs to. But I will explain what it means, and perhaps you all can figure that out for yourself. Black is the color of protection. It reflects a person who is protecting themselves and their secrets. It also indicates a new understanding of the burdens and sacrifices the individual will be facing. Gold reflects dynamic spiritual energy and a true coming into one's own power. Think of gold as the alchemical process, the transmutation of the individual from a base metal to something more precious.

Aggrastat: this actually _is_ a drug. It's used to treat patients who are having chest pains that last longer than typical angina, and cannot be controlled by medicines used to treat angina. It prevents blood clots from forming.


	9. Setting the Table

Arriving outside Malfoy Manor, Severus scowled. He needed a _conscious_ Malfoy, or at the very least, someone in the service of a Malfoy, in order to get past the wards. He pointed his wand at Lucius and tried a half-hearted "Ennervate." The Dark Lord must have been feeling particularly vicious when he cast Cruciatus on Lucius.

Honestly, you'd think the man would know better than to do something so spectacularly stupid.

He glared at the imposing and elaborate gates to the Manor's grounds and contemplated just leaving Lucius lying there on the grass. He sighed and cast a charm to summon a house elf with Lucius' wand. The elf appeared instantly. "Master!"

"Is Narcissa home?" Severus asked.

"Yes, sir," the elf replied. "Is sir wanting Neery to take sir to Mistress?"

Severus nodded. He pointed his wand at Lucius. "Mobilicorpus." With Lucius levitating behind him, Severus followed the elf into the Manor grounds. He glanced around, and noticed that most of the automatic defenses had been deactivated. He vaguely wondered if the Malfoys had been entertaining Ministry guests before the summons.

"Mistress is in the Green Room, sir. Would sir like Neery to take Master for you?" the elf asked when the threesome had reached the house proper. Severus nodded, let Lucius drift to the ground, and terminated the levitation spell. He walked away without looking back in the direction of the Green Room.

Severus, no matter how many times he found himself walking around the Manor alone, always found himself afraid of getting lost. The house liked to change. Lucius, fed up with having to track down his friend when Severus got lost on the way to the dining room for parties, finally told him a secret about the house: it had a sense of humor, and found it rather amusing to confound guests. _"How can a house have a sense of humor?" Severus asked._

"Easily. It's the embodiment of the first Malfoy," Lucius had answered easily. "And now that you know that, as long as you treat him respectfully, he'll never let you get lost."

Lucius had been right. From that moment on, he had never gotten lost in Malfoy Manor. In fact, he was fairly sure he had found shortcuts that neither Lucius, nor his father Armaros knew about. Not to mention the terrific laboratory he had found one night, wandering around after a meeting, in the dungeons of the castle.

Despite his reluctance to face Narcissa, Severus found himself at the door to the Green Room quickly. He sighed, and knocked lightly on the hard oak door. "Come in," Narcissa's light voice answered. He scowled, and prayed the woman wasn't _entertaining._ He opened the door, and strolled in.

Narcissa Malfoy had always been a beautiful woman, even when she had simply been Narcissa Rookwood. She was two years older than Severus, and he could still remember Lucius' fascination with her from their time at Hogwarts. What most didn't realize was that under that beauty rested a cunning, but relatively indolent mind. She knew how to protect herself and her own, she certainly had intelligence. But for as long as Severus had known her, she had been too blinded by her own base ambition and needs to rise to her full potential. The same cunning that got Narcissa Sorted into Slytherin was very much of the animal variety; she had _instincts._ But she rarely planned, she let others know what she wanted and _they_ did the work for her.

"Ah, Severus, how _delightful,_" Narcissa put her teacup down on the table and looked at him. She seemed to be smiling sincerely; Severus highly doubted the veracity of her expression. "Given that Lucius has not accompanied you, I assume the Dark Lord disciplined him. Tea?" She gestured towards the empty seat at the table, already set, presumably for Lucius himself. The curt gesture covered her quick breath of irritation. Severus walked over and sat.

Narcissa was also the one with the balls in the family.

"So, what exactly did my husband do this time?" she asked, pouring Severus a cup of tea.

He sipped it, noting the faint taste of mint, stalling. "He initiated a plan without the Dark Lord's knowledge."

Narcissa laughed. _That_ certainly wasn't the reaction he had been expecting. "I'm surprised our Lord let him leave breathing." She sipped from her own cup, crossing her legs as she drank. The act was manufactured to draw his attention to her thighs. Severus mentally rolled his eyes and obliged. She smiled, a half-lift of one side of her mouth. Lucius, when they were in school, had compared that smile to the Mona Lisa.

"I believe the Dark Lord was lenient because Lucius may be the only person who is able to fix the mess he created, both at Hogwarts and in the Ministry."

Narcissa slammed her cup down on the table. The tea sloshed over her hands and onto the table. "Hogwarts? That _fool_ actually did it?" Her cheeks were bright red and all pretense of seduction was gone from her manner. Once again, he was reminded of her animal cunning; this was an act of self-preservation.

Narcissa had always been good at preserving herself.

Severus leaned forward. Perhaps he might be able to get some information from this Malfoy. "Neither the Dark Lord nor Lucius have been forthcoming with details. Would you care to explain to me exactly what he did?"

Narcissa leaned back, not speaking. The flushed faded from her cheeks as quickly as it had appeared. "Why are you so interested, Severus? It's not like a _loyal_ servant of the Dark Lord to be concerned about Harry Potter." She reached into the sleeve of her robe, pulled out her wand, and cleaned the tea up before pouring a new cup.

Severus snorted. "I could care less what happens to the little brat, Narcissa. It's Draco I'm concerned about."

"Draco?"

"Yes. Lucius enacted his plan, whatever it is, through Draco, and he was caught along with Potter." Severus sipped his tea, and watched Narcissa's reaction.

Where there had been anger before, Severus thought he detected a faint surge of satisfaction in the way her lips twisted, right eyebrow raised, and eyes widened. There was no surprise at all in her expression. "He was?" She hummed a bit and sipped the tea. Severus raised an eyebrow at her stalling. "What do you already know?"

Severus smirked. "That's not going to work, Narcissa. Why don't you -" The door to the Green Room opened and Lucius trudged in.

"Oh wonderful," he said dryly, "I'm in time for tea." The lines around his eyes seemed darker and more pronounced, and Severus absently noted the faint tremors in his hands as he conjured a third chair for the table. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small vial, setting it in front of Lucius. "What's this?" Lucius picked it up disdainfully.

Severus sighed, and wondered how he had ever decided to become Lucius' friend. Admittedly, there hadn't been much of an option, but at least Braz Zabini had trusted him enough to take his potions without complaint. Well, at least until Claudia had gotten her hooks into him. Water under the bridge, he supposed. On the other hand, Severus had _never_ been very good at letting things go. "It's a general anesthetic, it helps alleviate some of the symptoms of Cruciatus."

Lucius snorted inelegantly, but downed the potion. He grimaced slightly at the taste. "I assume you've been filling in Narcissa on today's events?"

Narcissa poured Lucius a cup of tea, adding a bit of sugar. Severus assumed it was to help wash the nasty taste of the potion out of the man's mouth. "He has told me that you went ahead without approval." She placed the teapot lightly down on the table. "That was very stupid, Lucius."

Lucius shot a look at Severus. "Not now, Narcissa."

Severus laughed harshly. "Afraid to offend the guest?" He rubbed his forehead slightly, Death Eater politics, on top of everything _else_ that had happened over the last two days, were just enough to push him over the edge. Narcissa leveled a dark look at him. "Oh please, just tell me what you did, so I can go back to Hogwarts, fix _your_ mistake, Lucius, and then perhaps even get your son back."

Lucius sneered. "There are only two ways out of the trap. From the outside, a ritual sacrifice of someone close to the trapped. No one knows how to get out from the inside, it's never been accomplished before."

Severus scowled. "That doesn't help very much. Would you care to tell me exactly what the house does?"

Lucius laughed. "I think you've perhaps overstayed your welcome. There's no way to get them out unless they do it themselves." He tossed the potion vial across the table to Severus and pointed to the door. "I'll contact you before the next meeting."

Severus stood, and nodded. He walked to the door, pulling it open, before stopping. "You are treading on very thin ice, Lucius. Be careful what you're doing, because if you keep making missteps of _this_ proportion, you'll have Dumbledore, the Ministry, and _the Dark Lord_ after your blood. You should take help where it's offered."

"Help always comes with a price." It was Narcissa speaking.

"Perhaps," he said after a moment, "but considering the stakes, aren't you willing to pay it?" With that parting shot, Severus walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. He clenched his fists in order to help repress the urge to do something destructive.

Not for the first time in the last twenty years, Severus found himself glad of his profession.

The students would know the _real_ meaning of fear in the morning.

With a small, bitter smile, Severus strode towards the exit. He tapped his fingers lightly against his leg as he walked, considering. The house was a trap, Narcissa didn't approve, and Voldemort hadn't known. Lucius had acted on his own initiative, which meant it was probably _not_ some type of power siphon. But Lucius had let slip about the sacrifice. Severus squinted thoughtfully.

A good portion of the Dark Arts were based on three things: power, blood, and sex. At least one element was almost always necessary for the spells to work. Most of the lower to middle level spells required a great deal of power and control. It never ceased to amuse him that the so-called "Unforgivable" Curses, were really middle level as far as the Dark Arts were concerned. The middle to higher level spells required either sexual congress during the spell, or the results of such an act; semen, for example. The Darkest, and therefore most powerful, of the Dark Arts, always required blood. The caster's blood, specifically.

It had been those spells that brought about the transformation in Tom Riddle, making it so that only a select group knew the origins of the Dark Lord.

Some of those spells allowed for a substitution. Instead of the caster's blood, the blood of a relative, or someone who is considered "family" by the caster - and vice versa - could be used. The sacrifice only worked if the substitute was willing to go to the point of death.

All of the Dark Arts of this type called for death.

Severus himself had never preformed any spells of this type. He never quite had the stomach for it, especially considering the disaster with the Bindende Treue spell he had attempted with Theresia Rosier.

She had ended up dead, and Severus himself had ended up in a coma for nearly two weeks. He had woke up in Malfoy Manor and watched Lucius successfully preform the spell with Narcissa. Two days later, Severus had found himself in the office of Albus Dumbledore.

Severus' insistence on not casting the high level Dark Arts spells that the Dark Lord and members of his inner circle advocated lowered his status in the eyes of the Dark Lord. This was a problem for the budding spy, so when he had been younger, he went out of his way to create new potions. Potions to bend the mind, potions to change the body, potions to hurt, potions to heal, potions to poison, potions to kill, potions to create lies, potions to force the truth, potions to hide, potions to reveal.

Some of those potions he had gone on to patent, and were usable in the mainstream. The rest, he had destroyed nearly everything of.

Except his notes. Those he hadn't been able to part with. If asked, Severus would explain that he always knew the Dark Lord hadn't been totally gone after the incident at the Potter's. Deep down, he suspected that those notes provided a last connection to a time of life that had been much simpler. He missed it sometimes.

Severus missed it all the time.

He blinked and came back to himself as he realized that he had _not_ come to the exit to the Manor. In fact, Severus was standing in front of the laboratory he used to hide in as a child. Severus had been fifteen the last time he had entered the room, and surprisingly, it looked like the wards he had set on the door were still untouched.

He pulled out his wand and took them down. It was much easier now that it had been nearly twenty-five years ago. Time made all the difference, he supposed. Time, power, and knowledge. He grabbed the doorknob, relishing the feel of the metal, before turning it.

He coughed as he walked in; twenty-three years of dust accumulation was not a pleasant experience. Severus slipped his wand out of his sleeve, and held it up. "Lumos." The soft light from the wand cast shadows over the entire laboratory. On the right side of the room, Severus noticed the set-up for an old experiment that he never started. On the left was a full bookshelf.

Severus smiled and walked over. He laid a hand on the top row of books; they were all journals for potions and spell experiments that he had tried to hide from his parents. He gently fingered the binding of one of the books, clearing the dust a bit. He pulled it off the shelf and checked the last dated entry. About 17 months before his last entrance into the laboratory. And right about the same time Severus had begun studying the Dark Arts.

At least Lucius' slip could help them discern the type of spell surrounding the house. If calling either Potter or Draco back required a blood sacrifice, perhaps if a select few at Hogwarts put their heads together, they could come up with a list of locator spells that might break through the magical barriers on the house.

Severus snorted, realizing that he was actually contemplating working with Lupin and Granger.

He had never been able to play nice with the other children.

Severus conjured a large bag. Placing it under his arm, he cast an area-affected shrinking spell, changing the size of the books until they were all small enough to all fit in the bag. That finished, Severus began loading. He mentally made a note to devote time to look through all the books later. After the current crisis was over, and before the next one started.

That finished, Severus exited the laboratory. This time he paid attention to where he was going, and quickly found himself at the front doors. As he stepped out onto the Manor grounds, he idly wondered how he had ended up at the laboratory in the first place. He highly doubted the house's sense of humor would chose to that specific moment to act up, after a very quiet twenty-eight years.

As he walked toward the gate, he found himself remembering a quote from a Muggle book Albus had loaned him. Lips quirking slightly, Severus passed the Anti-Apparition wards, and prepared himself to make the jump back to Hogsmead. "Come, Watson, come! The game is afoot."

Severus arrived back on the outskirts of Hogsmead. The sun was just beginning to set, and with the Auror-enforced curfew due to Death Eater activities most of the shops were closing and people scurrying home as fast as they could. Severus had always found the mass exodus to "safety" amusing. First of all, the Dark Lord could find them _wherever_ they were, no place was safe. Hogwarts itself wasn't safe, despite the Dumbledore propaganda. Secondly, the Death Eater activity had increased recently; raids were happening during the day as well.

He winced at the thought of the Dark Lord's escalation now that he knew Potter was neutralized for the time being.

That meant the next reliable target was most likely going to be centered around Hogwarts and it's power structure: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Minerva McGonagall, the students.

Albus Dumbledore.

Severus stalked through the village toward the imposing castle. In all honesty, he was rather surprised he'd survived this long as a spy. The Dark Lord, while somewhat blinded by his own ambition, had _never_ been a stupid man. And his increase in power was sincerely worrying, especially in combination with Pettigrew's knowledge of the castle.

Arriving at the castle, he was greeted by Potter's miserable mutt of a godfather. Black was in his Animagus form, and seemed to be pacing back and forth along the perimeter of the wards that guarded the entrance to Hogwarts from Hogsmead. It looked like Black had been waiting, impatiently, for him.

This was going to be _fun._

Black, finally catching onto Severus' scent, growled low in his throat. Severus slipped his wand out of his robes, and pointed it at the bastard, ready to hex him. Black glared, trotted up, and sunk his teeth into Severus' robes, trying to pull him toward the Forbidden Forest. It seemed as if the idiot wanted to _chat._

Oh, this was going to be incredible _fun._

Once the pair of them had gone far enough into the Forest to be sure that none of the students were around, Black transformed. Severus raised an eyebrow at him, before casting anti-eavesdrop and perimeter-detection spells. He refused to tbe the first one to speak, so he crossed his arms and just stared at the man he hated.

"Snape." Black's voice was low, hollow, and deep. Severus fought a smirk of satisfaction that Black had broken first.

"Yes, mongrel?"

Black snarled. "Remus says you have the Apparition coordinates for the place he found in Peter's journal."

Severus blinked, surprised in spite of himself. "Not with me, no. But I do have them."

"Bring them to the Whomping Willow tomorrow morning before classes start. I'm Apparating there." Black's hands twitched slightly.

Severus snorted. "Make sure you take a wand with you. Wouldn't want your precious Potter to come back and find you dead, now would we?"

"In your dreams, Snape," Black snarled back. His jaw tightened and he seemed to be considering something.

"What?"

"Snape." The name was ground out through Black's yellowed teeth. Severus idly wondered how long it would take the idiot to grind his teeth completely away if he kept _that_ up. "Something smells wrong," he finally continued in one rush.

Severus raised his eyebrow. "How specific. '_Something smells wrong._' Why thank you for that brilliant insight." He smirked at Black and turned to walk away. Black caught his arm.

"Listen to me, you greasy bastard." Black's words were intense, and Severus looked him dead in the eyes. The pale color seemed leeched out by the forest, casting a sinister pall over the other man. "Something, or someone, is not supposed to be here. I don't know who or what, and I don't have time to check myself before tomorrow. I've already told Remus."

"And you're telling me because...?" Severus asked coldly.

Black shook his head, lips pursed into a thoughtful frown. "As much as I hate you, you see things most don't." His grip tightened painfully, cutting off circulation. "_Watch._" With that final _command_ delivered, Black shifted back into his Animagus form and bounded off.

Severus watched him go and started to laugh. It was hard, cold, bitter, and it felt like each gasp of laughter stuck in his throat. He let the laughter trail off, still standing in the same spot Black had left him, and considered the other man's words.

It was nothing he didn't already know.

He looked up as he heard a trilling in the distance. Against the dark of the sky, he saw a red bird, a _fiery_ bird flying towards the castle. It was Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes. Severus frowned, and started the follow the bird. As far as he knew, the bird had never left the castle since Dumbledore had become Headmaster.

The bird flew into a window. Severus paused and pictured the cooridor of the castle that led to: Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

And the Chamber of Secrets.

Gathering his robes in his hands, so that he wouldn't trip, Severus took off at a run.

* * *

Author's Notes:

_Armaros (Malfoy)_: Lucius' father, and Draco's grandfather. I thought the name would be highly appropriate. Lucius is a derivative of the name "Lucifer." In the books of Enoch, Armaros is a fallen angel, who along with two hundred angels who descended to Mount Hermon and had sex with human women. The leaders of the angels taught charms, conjuring formulas, and the efficacy of plants. The children of these mixed marriages were giants, who consumed everything up to and _including_ men. Armaros was one of those angelic leaders, and he specifically taught men how to raise spells.

_Braz (Zabini)_: Once again, I get to make up a generation of people! This would be the ever-silent Blaise Zabini's father. Blaise is the Latin name for "one who lisps or stammers." Braz is Latin for "stammerer." Guess it runs in this family.

_Claudia (Zabini)_: Blaise Zabini's mother. Claudia, is the Latin form of the name "Claude," and means "the lame one."

_Bindende Treue spell_: Rough German for "binding loyalty." You can probably figure out from that what I think it does.

_Theresia Rosier:_ I sort of see her as Death Eater Evan Rosier's sister. Theresia is a German name, meaning "the harvester or reaper." And they said you couldn't judge a book by it's cover.

_"Come, Watson, come! The game is afoot."_ Quote is from Arthur Conan Doyle's excellent detective, Sherlock Holmes. Specifically from the story "The Adventure of the Abbey Grange."

And just some general housekeeping of stuff I noticed from reviews:

First of all, I _don't_ speak or read Latin. I make use of a Latin dictionary and my ever-helpful in-med-school best friend who _does._ I do, however, claim to speak French. I'm fairly rusty, because I honestly haven't practiced since high school (although I was fluent then). I've been learning German and Japanese as well. But in the end, I can only say with absolute certainty that I'm fluent in English.

Second: I know most of you guys keep clamoring for more stuff inside the house with Harry and Draco, but honestly, this is _my_ story. I'm not an incredibly _slow_ writer, it doesn't take me months to update. Generally I have a new chapter out each month. I'm sorry, but I do want this to be balanced - I enjoy writing the switching perspectives. And nearly every canonical Harry Potter character not dead or Dumbledore is going to have a part to play and something to say. This will be a _long_ story. Very long. So, be patient. Trust me, Draco and Harry will get more than enough "on-screen time." In fact, they'll be getting more than anyone else.

Third: Yes, this _will_ be slash. Harry/Draco, specifically. Maybe some other characters. There will also be heterosexual pairings too! So, feel free to run screaming from either one. Whatever suits your fancy. (By the way, since the pairing is not synonymous with the plot, any romance found herein will actually be fairly mild. There's a reason the story is listed as "Horror/Action/Adventure.")


	10. Party Crashers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Iljana and Utopia for helping me fix my atrocious German.

The fog in the room was oppressing Draco. He felt almost smothered by the gray mist. He couldn't breath in the thickness. "Harry...?" Draco hated how weak his voice sounded, how young, how scared. He hated the fog.

When Draco had been five, his mother had taken him and his father to visit her relatives. With nothing to do, and no one to play with as his parents visited, Draco had wandered off on his own.

Right into Dartmoor. Famous worldwide in the Wizarding World for its Hell Hounds.

Draco, too young to understand what was going on, had been terrified when the fog had started rising. He could longer see the house that his parents and aunt were at. He could barely see his hand in front of his face.

And then the growling had started. From behind. Then in front.

From all sides, growing closer and closer, as all Draco could do was to scream for his father.

Then a flash of teeth, in front of his face, and Draco _ran._ He didn't know where he was going; he didn't know what was chasing him.

Instinctual flight.

He had only been vaguely aware that he was still screaming.

He remembered hearing his father's bass voice screaming out an exile spell - no one really knew how to banish the Hell Hounds, if indeed that is what they were, but there were a few spells that would slow them down - grabbing Draco into his arms and starting his own desperate flight out of the fog and toward the lights.

They had made it back. No one seemed to have noticed that either was gone and no one was outside to greet them. Draco liked it better that way. He enjoyed the feeling of his father holding him tight, holding him close as Draco sobbed. After about a minute, when Lucius had been able to catch his breath, he tilted Draco's head up and wiped away the tears. _"Malfoys don't cry."_

Draco tried to calm his breathing, hyperventilating would _not_ help in this situation.

Was that howling he heard in the distance?

"POTTER!" Draco shouted. His father may have known the spells to exile a Hell Hound, but Draco most certainly did _not._ The best he could probably do was manage a Banishing charm. "POTTER!"

The howling seemed to be getting closer. It was the only sound Draco could hear in the fog. He slowly began backing away from where he thought the howls were coming from.

The calls were answered. And _those_ bays were coming from the direction that Draco was heading. He jumped. "POTTER!" he shouted one last time. It still didn't even echo, but seemed sucked into the strong fog. "Fuck it," he muttered, and shifted.

If his father had insisted that Draco learn everything there was to know about Potions, his mother had insisted that Draco be proficient in Transfiguration. That included, in the last year, learning to be an Animagus. The training had been rigorous and difficult, changing limb by limb gradually, until the full transformation had taken place.

In the end, his Animagus form was more than worth it. Whenever Draco flew as an eagle, he found himself wondering if this was how Potter felt on a broom. Why Potter was so good, so _natural_ in the air.

Draco flexed his wings against the fog, trying to lift himself out of it. Or at least get high enough into the air that perhaps he might be able to spot Potter. And most definitely get away from the Hell Hounds.

The higher he flew, the more the fog seemed to press down on him. Draco forced his wings to beat harder and faster, and cast his gaze around him but all he saw was the damn fog! And the howling was getting closer.

It was accompanied by the sound of thumping, the sounds of the Hounds running. Draco remembered that sound very well; it haunted some of his more gruesome nightmares. He fought harder, crying out, hearing the shriek flow through his beak over the baying of the Hounds.

He had to get away, he had to fly.

But no matter how hard he tried, the fog didn't lift! No matter where he went, it was there!

"Resolvo Praestigiae!" Draco forced his body to dive toward the source of the spell.

It was Harry.

He was standing in a small clear patch. It seemed as if his spell, which Draco dimly realized the formula of a basic Dark Arts spell, had created a bubble in which he was protected from the fog.

Unfortunately, Draco himself bounced off the protection bubble as well. The crash created a violent clash of colored light. Damn Potter!

The black-haired boy looked up as the brilliant light faded, and squinted. His jaw was clenched tightly and Draco could see that Harry had a death grip on his wand. "Malfoy? Is that you?" he asked quietly. "I can't see anything outside the circle," it came out as a whisper.

Draco flapped his wings in exasperation, and no small amount of fear. The Hounds were closing. He dropped back to the ground, and shifted out of his Animagus form, before trying to enter the circle again.

This time it worked. Harry looked over at him, and seemed distinctly relieved. "Get over here, Malfoy. I can't hold this spell alone for a very long time, you have to set it quickly!"

Draco did as he was told, this was definitely not the time to argue with the Gryffindor. "How?"

"Any basic binding spell in the -" Harry gasped, cutting himself off and grabbing his chest - _his heart_ \- with his free hand. "The Vercen," a drop of blood rolled out of Harry's mouth, "family. Qui - quickly!" Draco turned towards the faint circle of light that grounded Harry's spell, and tried to remember the variant he had been referring to. Still coughing, Harry reached out and grabbed Draco's arm in a punishing grip. "Erhalte."

Draco nodded and raised his wand, pointing towards the ground. "Erhalte," he found heard himself say in a surprisingly calm voice. He waited, as the fog seemed to press in on them, and watched his spell take hold, grabbing Harry's spell, grounding it so that the power was pulled from the illusion - _the damn fog_ \- rather than Harry himself. The circle flashed brilliantly and expanded back to the original proportions. Draco stared at the light for a moment before turning back.

Harry was on his hands and knees, grasping for breath. He was pale, shaking, and looked exhausted. "Well, well, well," Draco finally said after watching Harry breathe. "Wonders never cease. Harry Potter, the very picture of Gryffindor rectitude, using the Dark Arts."

Harry flopped down on the ground, and groaned as he rolled over onto his back. He had dropped his wand, and Draco was fairly sure he saw blood on it as it lay on the ground. Harry did have an awfully strong grip. "Prat," he said, leveling an extremely weak glare at Draco.

Draco laughed, before turning to look at the protective barrier they set. "Why don't you tell me exactly what this spell does?"

Harry closed his eyes, and then slowly reached up to rub his eyelids with his palms. "It's a ward variant, specifically used in illusion spells. More powerful than simplified wards, because it pulls directly out of the caster's magical reserves unless it's grounded to the illusion - which is what you did."

"How long do you think it'll be effective?"

Harry shrugged as best as he could from his supine position. "I don't know. It depends on if that fog out there really is a proper illusion. Or something else entirely. But it should be long enough for us to come up with the plan. Was that you who crashed into the spell and disrupted my concentration?"

Draco nodded, before realizing Harry still had his eyes covered. "Yes."

"What's your form, then?"

Draco stared at the black-haired boy, and found himself sinking to the ground in surprise. "What?"

"Animagi are a variation, an _illusion_ given life, based on aspects of ourselves. The only way you would have crashed into the wall is if you were in an Animagus form. So, what are you?"

"Oh," Draco said, still astounded. It was quite unreasonable for Potter to suddenly develop the ability to be logical. Especially not on top of the revelation about the Dark Arts. "Eagle."

Harry opened his eyes and slowly sat up. He wrapped his arms around his legs and sighed, before looking over at Draco and smiling. He tilted his head to the right and said, "It suits you." Draco snorted, and Harry's smile grew wider. "Oh shut up, and help me up. We have to figure out what to do." He slowly lifted his left hand in the air, and reached for Draco's right. Draco was surprised that the Gryffindor thought he'd be able to stand at all, but did as he was bidden.

As soon as Harry was standing gingerly, Draco let go and scowled. He'd taken far too many of the Gryffindor's orders in the last few minutes for his own taste. "So what do you propose we do?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, really. This place doesn't seem familiar to me. Do you know it?"

Draco stiffened. "What does that have to do with anything?"

The Gryffindor glared in response. "Everything. Or weren't you listening to Hansel? These places come from _us._ It's our nightmares and fears we have to face and get away from -"

"Like you faced Diggory?" Draco hissed before he could stop himself.

Harry's hands clenched, and his face turned bright red. Draco vaguely wondered if he'd be physically attacked for the ... third? fourth? time since this entire mess started. He tried to slowly bring up his wand and have it ready against any magical attacks even as he rotated onto the balls of his feet to dodge. "I'll thank you to not mention Cedric ever again," Harry said quietly. The words were full of menace, a tone that Draco had until that point believed only Snape capable of.

"Carrying a torch, Potter?" While this may not have been the smartest thing Draco had ever done, at least it removed the attention from him.

"Don't talk of things you know nothing of, Malfoy," Harry hissed as he brought up his wand. So much for the truth. "Stille für den toten Diggory," Potter shouted. Draco tried to dodge, but the flash of gold light _followed_ him. "Oh don't look so murderous, Draco," Potter sat back down on the ground. "I only hexed you so that you won't ever be able to say his name until I provide the counter-curse."

Draco snorted. "Regardless of how _mild_ it is, Potter, I advise against cursing me. You're the one who wanted the damn truce in the first place, you bloody hypocrite!"

"Takes one to know one, eh, Malfoy?" Potter smirked, and Draco quickly tried to pick an appropriate hex.

A loud smashing distracted him, and both Draco and Potter turned to the barrier. A large section of it had turned yellow, where _something_ had crashed into it. Draco pointed his wand at the stain, and cast a revealing charm.

In front of the two boys, the picture of a large, black and red dog appeared. It was snarling, with long overhanging canines. The Hound's eyes were glowing red, like fire, and to Draco it almost looked as if the coloring came from... being skinned. "What in the fucking hell is _that_?" Potter burst out.

Draco gulped. It was as he remembered. "It's a Hell Hound."

"Well, how the fuck do you stop them?"

"I don't know," Draco whispered, staring at the picture as it faded from view. He could dimly hear the sounds of the other Hounds baying in the distance. They were trapped in Potter's neat little bubble, and sooner or later - most likely sooner - those Hounds would get through. There was no way out. They were going to die.

Potter reached over and shook Draco. "Snap out of it!" Draco just looked at him. Why bother, it didn't matter, they were going to die. "Some help you are, Malfoy," Potter shouted. They needed help, but it wouldn't make a difference. He wondered if there really was such a thing as Heaven. "You're a useless waste of space, you don't deserve the name Malfoy!"

Now _that_ was just too much. Draco punched Potter, sending him flying against the other side of the barrier. "When we get out of this, Potter, I'm going to hex you into the _next century,_" Draco hissed. Potter smiled.

"Good to have you back. Now, here's what we're going to do -"

"Why should I listen to you?" Draco broke in. "You're a Gryffindor, you wouldn't know a good plan if it bite you in the arse!" Almost as a punctuation to Draco's words, another Hound came crashing into the barrier behind Potter. "What we need to do is two separate things: make this barrier mobile, and find our way out."

Potter glared, but nodded. "I can probably rearrange the parameters of the spell so that it's not centered into the ground, but rather centered in the space around us. But I haven't a clue on how to find the way out."

"The Mudblood hasn't forced tracing charms down your throat yet, I take it?" Potter flushed red again.

"Stop being insulting and do what you need to do. I'll start working on the spell." Potter sighed. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Draco stared at him before waving the apology away. There were more important things to worry about. Like survival. "Let me know when you're ready, and I'll remove the binding spell."

Harry grunted in acknowledgement, before kneeling to the ground and touching the edge of the barrier. Draco snorted, seeing once again what made the idiot a _Gryffindor,_ and picked up some dirt off the ground. He examined it, trying to find a physical clue to where they were before trying magical methods. Lightly touching the handful of dirt with his free hand, Draco was fairly sure that he felt sand in the mixture, and a small bit of coal. He scowled, unable to put a physical place to go with that mixture. "Rescisco Ingressio," he commanded, pointing his wand at the dirt in his hand. It glowed purple and when Draco threw the dirt back onto the ground, the purple expanded into a line - _a trail_ \- to follow. He just hoped it was the appropriate spell, it was quite possible that his tracing charm would lead them deeper into the fog. "I'm ready," he rapped out to Harry.

The Gryffindor was standing right in front of the barrier, wand out, looking directly at the snarling face of a Hound, and chanting. Draco had to give the fool his due, he supposed that going toe-to-toe with the Dark Lord would give _anyone_ a high fear threshold. Harry's head whipped around, and he sent a fierce glare at Draco. "Remove the spell, and then recast it by using 'Erhalte mich'." Draco nodded, and did as Harry said. He felt the rush of magic, as a connection was formed, and Harry seemed to glow purple as the spell took hold. Harry lowered his wand. "All right, then?" Draco nodded, and pointed to his trail. Harry's lips quirked into a small smile. "I'll lead, then?"

With that, they began following the trail. Both Harry and Draco had their wands out. "Where'd you learn to modify spells?" Draco asked into the silence. He felt slightly odd about breaking it considering that they were in a life-or-death situation.

Harry shot him an amused glance, and Draco found himself jealous at the Gryffindor's cavalier attitude in the face of such demonic beings as _Hell Hounds._ "Hermione, actually. She drags Ron and I up to the Charms classroom once a week, and we all practice modifications on basic spells." His smile began wider and proud. "She's even created a few spells of her own."

"Thrilled for her, truly I am," Draco drawled, keeping his eyes on the purple line. Harry's smile dropped off his face, and he turned away.

Harry jumped slightly as another Hound crashed into the barrier; it bulged inwards slightly. Draco was absurdly pleased that the Gryffindor _could_ still be surprised. He disliked this new Potter. He was too... Wizarding, Draco supposed. In all of his dealings with Harry, very rarely did the Gryffindor ever think to use magic first. And it seemed as if Harry had gone beyond that.

But, as Draco considered, even with Diggory or the fights they had earlier in the house, Harry's first instinct had been for _physical action._ Not magical.

Something was very wrong, and Draco just couldn't put his finger on it.

"We're here, Malfoy." Harry was pointing at the ground where the purple trail had abruptly stopped. There was no sign of a door anywhere, however it seemed as if the Hell Hounds had wandered off to look for more accessible meat. At the very least, they weren't crashing Harry's barrier. Harry turned to Draco and smiled, a full-blown, unrestrained grin.

"I don't see what's so funny, Harry," Draco replied, looking around nervously.

Harry's grin grew wider, exposing his white teeth. "We've found the beginning, Malfoy." With a wave of his wand, Harry banished the barrier. Draco gaped at him; wordless spells, while like wandless magic was possible, it was extremely difficult to accomplish and generally took decades of training to prepare for. It required a conscious control of a person's innate magic _that Potter shouldn't have._ Draco began to back away slowly.

"Who are you?"

"You remember the beginning, Malfoy? In Madame Malkin's shop? You going on about the importance of blood?" Draco shook his head in disbelief. "Well, I'll grant that you didn't say it overtly, but in retrospect, that was exactly what you meant. And to think, seven years later, you still haven't learned that blood has nothing to do with. Tom Riddle is a half-blood. I'm a half-blood. You're a pure blood, and we have far more ability than you could ever dream of achieving. It's _talent_ that matters, Malfoy, and I pity you for ever buying into his _revolution._" Potter sneered and raised his wand towards Draco. "Goodbye, Malfoy. Can't say I'll miss you." Draco raised his wand and shouted the first curse that came to mind.

"Expelliarmus!"

Potter laughed and stepped closer, his long, elegant wand still held delicately in his fingers. "Avada," Draco tensed and readied to dodge. "Kedav -" Something rushed out of the fog and knocked Potter to the ground.

"RUN!"

Draco did as he was told.

* * *

Author's Notes

Urg, lots of spells to translate here. Once again, let me reiterate the fact that I am _not_ fluent in either German or Latin, so if I've gotten it wrong, well, oops! Let me know and I'll fix it.

_Resolvo Praestigiae:_ Latin for "dispel illusion."

_Erhalte:_ German for "sustain."

_Stille für den toten Diggory:_ German for "silence for the dead."

_Erhalte mich:_ German for "sustain me."

_Rescisco Ingressio:_ Latin for, roughly, "find the beginning."

_Dartmoor:_ An actual place in England, it's a plateau in southwestern Devonshire known for its moors. No, I haven't been there. I've never left the USA. I picked it because that's where Arthur Conan Doyle's fictional Baskerville Hall is located. Baskerville Hall is from the Sherlock Holmes novel "The Hounds of Baskerville," which gave me the idea for the Hell Hounds as I was rereading it.

_Vercen family:_ Sort of a joking reference to Vercingetorix. He was a Gaulic (ancient France, essentially) leader who, in 52BC took on Julius Caesar as the Romans tried to invade. He failed.

_Draco's Animagus form:_ Hey, if Fanon!Harry can do it, why can't my Draco? Of course, it was easier said than done; I had to pick a form for him! So, I picked Eagle. Eagles symbolize several things, but the specific characteristics that caught my eye are: swiftness, strength, courage, wisdom, keen sight, illumination of spirit, ability to see hidden spiritual truths, power, intelligence, and clear vision. Yep, you guessed it, Draco's magical talent is clairvoyance. Sort of. It goes beyond that, but it works as explanation until you all can see what I mean. Well, beyond the subtle hints that I've stuck in all over the place.

_German-based Dark Arts spells:_ See, almost all of the magic we see canonically is Latin-based. Yes, there's exceptions, two really spring to mind: Lockhart's "Peskipixie pesternomi," which I don't think counts because the spell doesn't work! The second exception is "Avada Kedavra," which is Aramaic. So, most everything is Latin. That's all well and good, I suppose, but personally I find it rather boring and unbelievable in the grand scheme of things. Are we really expected to believe that all magic, around the world, is Latin-based? Nope, not I.

So. I decided to look at it this way. For the first couple hundred years of the Roman Empire before everything fell apart, they did their damned best to impose order on all the lands it controlled. So, looking at the Dark Arts as a rebellion of sort, I decided that my Dark Arts would be based in the languages of people who were thorns in the side of the Romans. And since German is the only one of those several languages that I felt I could have a reasonable handle on, that was it. ;^_^ If anyone wants to offer to translate in other languages, I'd take you up on that offer in a _minute._ Also, taking into account the Killing Curse, it seems interesting that the most damaging spell we see canonically _isn't_ in Latin, so I extrapolated from that as well.


	11. Turn the Lamp Down Low

Draco ran as fast as he could; his legs burned with the effort and he was gasping in large breaths of air. Obviously Quidditch hadn't kept him in shape as much as he had thought.

He ran without any thought of direction, without thought of the Hell Hounds; he ran thinking only of obeying that deep booming voice's command. He even found himself ignoring the fog, and he found that gray blankness far more terrifying than the thought of Hell Hounds or Potter's surprisingly good impression of the Dark Lord.

And as abruptly as the thought flashed through his mind, Draco found himself able to see again. The fog had lifted. Draco let his legs slow down and bring him to a stop. He panted, trying to catch his breath, before looking around. It seemed as if he was on a ruined and desolate plain. The sky was a murky black, as if storms threatened. The ground was dirt mixed with gray ash. There were yellow skeletons - _human skeletons_ \- littered across the ground. To his left was a pile of stones that had been reduced to near-rubble. Potter was nowhere in sight. Draco briefly began debating whether or not to place a tracking charm on the Gryffindor, when he heard a noise in the distance. It sounded vaguely like crunching, and Draco suspected that someone - or something - was breaking the bones as they drew nearer to him. He pulled his wand out, and mentally tried to prepare himself to cast the strongest spell he knew: Cruciatus.

Despite what the masses might have thought, Cruciatus was a fairly weak spell when it came to the Dark Arts. Draco had decided long ago that the reason it was one of the Unforgivables was because it was so easy to cast; it only required a small amount of sadistic intent, the ability to enjoy and revel in another's pain. And power. The spell was easy to cast for the powerful. No matter how much of a sadist the Longbottom Squib might be, he would never have the requisite power levels necessary to cast even the mildest of Dark Arts spells.

Potter, on the other hand, was brimming with power. It was almost a tangible presence when Draco was around the Gryffindor. Draco had always assumed that his morals would hold him back.

"There you are, Draco! I've been looking all over for you!"

Speak of the Devil. Draco turned towards where he heard the voice coming from. Indeed, Potter was jogging across the ash and bone covered ground, right toward Draco. He had his wand in the ready position and his other hand on the Gryffindor sword. Draco raised his own wand, and quickly cast and invisible shielding spell before Potter reached him. "Potter," he finally said as the other boy stopped in front of him. "What was that display about?"

Potter scowled. "I'm not sure... I think it was me. Or a version of me. Or what I could become. But I knocked it away and gave it a few good licks to the head. We should be safe for a while until we get out of here."

Draco laughed. "How brilliant. Perfect defense, 'I'm sorry, my lord, but it was my evil twin.'" Draco was clutching the wand so hand his hand shook.

Potter took a step back, as if he had divined Draco's level of annoyance. "Look, it really wasn't -"

"GET AWAY FROM IT, DRACO!"

Draco closed his eyes at the shout, mentally cursing everything and everyone he could think of, before turning around to study his second visitor.

Well, well, well. Looks as if Potter just _might_ have an evil twin.

The second Potter came rushing towards them, full tilt on a collision course with the first Potter. His cheeks were flushed bright red, and there was blood on his arm. Draco could see a tear in his robe's sleeves and the school uniform, exposing lacerated flesh. He had lost his glasses but seemed perfectly well able to see. The second Potter had no sword in sight. "Draco, it wants to kill you! Get away from it!"

Draco sighed. And then glared. And then sighed again. Both Potter's were looking at him as if he had gone mad. Draco backed away. "All right, which one of you is the real Potter?"

"I AM!" came the simultaneous shout.

Draco rubbed his forehead. "Right then. You two have fun with your multiple personalities. I am going to find the door."

"Wait, I'll come with you!" both Potters said. Draco twitched. He had the nasty feeling he was developing an ulcer.

"Look, can you," Draco pointed at the Potter with the sword, which Draco had begun to think of as Potter One, "explain why there are two of you?"

Potter One sighed. "Like I said, I'm entirely sure. But I think he's me."

"That was so enlightening, Potter. Care to expound further?" Draco snarled.

Potter Two glared back, but continued where Potter One had left off. "He's what I'm capable of, if I had gone evil."

Draco looked back and forth between the two Potters and started laughing. The situation was just so absurd. His entire life had become absurd. Once again, the Potters were looking at him as if he'd gone mad. Their twin expressions only served to make him laugh more.

It took a minute before Draco had himself under control, and he studied the two Potters, thinking. What they had said _did_ make sense, given Potter's actions earlier. Not only had he heavily relied on magic, something distinctly out of character, but that magic had been the _Dark Arts._ Then, once they'd moved toward the "exit," Potter had attacked him without provocation, also distinctly out of character.

But an Evil Potter?

Draco scowled; one unwanted Dark Lord was enough for him.

So the trick would be to distinguish between the two, who was the shadow, and who was the real. Then figure out how to banish the fake. And finally, get the hell out of this room before it threw more things at them. "And what exactly does this interesting case of multiple personality disorder have to do with me?" Draco asked in his snidest voice. Distraction was key, if what he was planning was to work.

Both Potters glared at him. "You need to get rid of him!" They pointed at each other. Draco rolled his eyes. The simultaneous speaking might be amusing, if one of the Potters hadn't been bent on killing him not ten minutes prior.

"Right then," Draco said slowly. "The answer to this is simple." Both Potters looked at him interrogatively. He smiled as viciously as he could, and swiftly brought up his wand, pointing it in the space between the two Potters. "Cru -" he began to shout. Potter One dodged out of the way, his hands reaching toward the Gryffindor sword. Potter Two quickly cast a shielding charm that would reflect most hexes. Instead of finishing the Cruciatus, Draco lunged at Potter Two, knocking him to the ground and separating the wand from his hand and shattering the hastily cast shield. "Petrificus Totalus!" Potter froze under the Full Body Bind.

"How'd you know, Draco?" Harry came up behind him and stared down at his doppelganger.

"The way you moved under stress."

"Huh?"

Draco laughed. "Very eloquent, Potter. You instinctively move towards a physical reaction under stress." He stood and turned to look at the Gryffindor. "This one," Draco pointed to the Potter on the ground, "instinctively cast a magical defense."

Harry snorted. "There was an easier way, you know." Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'll tell you if you tell me why you explained why you decided to tip your hand and clue me into one of my weaknesses."

"Bargaining? How Slytherin of you, Harry." Draco considered. It was a good deal, all things told, especially given that he was going to be trapped with Harry for who knew how long. And if he was going to be depending on the Gryffindor, the less weaknesses the other boy had, the better. "Because I can't find in advantage in keeping it to myself, Potter."

Harry sighed, and kneeled next to his double. "The crest, Malfoy, the crest," he said in the exact same tone of voice that Harry had used.

Draco glanced down at the double's robes and instead of the normal red and gold Gryffindor House crest...

Was a crest identical to his own.

_Slytherin._

"It wanted to put me there originally." Harry's voice was flat.

"What?"

"Very eloquent, Malfoy," Harry smirked. "The Sorting Hat, it wanted me in Slytherin." Draco snorted. "So what do we with him?"

He stared at the snake on the patch for a minute before looking up at Harry and grinning nastily. "Of course, _you_ would be able to spot the crest, Potter. With your tendency toward a physical reaction, you'd get close enough."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Malfoy. I think we have bigger things to worry about."

Draco smirked at Harry's mild annoyance. "As much as I applaud your instincts in asking someone with superior intelligence, Harry, I haven't the faintest clue what to do with him. This is _your_ prison, remember? I'm just here by accident."

"Well, you must know. _You_ got rid of the fog." Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked around at the wasteland, as if seeing it for the first time.

Draco blinked at that assessment. "What gives you that impression?"

Harry snorted. "Well I certainly didn't do it. I was a little too busy with that," he pointed down at the bound Potter on the ground.

Draco looked around the exterior again, thinking. He walked over to one of the mutilated skeletons. It was still covered in tiny scraps of clothing. Draco swallowed, and tried to not to think about what had caused the corpse to get into this condition. On what he thought was an arm bone were a few scraps of cloth.

Robes. Robes with a crest on them.

"Oh hell," he breathed. "Student robes. _Children._" He stood up quickly and bit his lip to keep from passing out. The skeleton wasn't mutilated, it was a _child._

"Calm down," he heard Harry say over the roaring in his ears. "Put your head between your knees." Draco shook him off, feeling nauseous.

"Don't you get it, Potter?" Draco hissed, staring at those robes. "This," he gestured wildly, "is Hogwarts." Draco stared at the Gryffindor out of the corner of his eye and saw Harry pale to a deathly white color and swallow. "Go check that rubble over there," he heard himself continue faintly. "I'll bet 20 galleons you find the Hogwarts insignia." Harry nodded and walked off. Draco very purposely didn't watch him leave.

Instead he stared down at the Potter on the ground. Aside from the Slytherin patch on his robes, now that he looked closely, there were several differences. Potter's hair was relatively neat, for the first time since Draco had ever met him. The clothes underneath his robes weren't those horrible things Harry favored. And, of course, there was the gratuitous Dark Arts use. Draco reached down and took Potter's wand. It looked exactly the same as Harry's. He felt the magic flowing through it, and stared down at Potter. "Is he this powerful too?" Draco whispered. Potter was unable to answer.

"You were right. That rubble was what was left of the doors." Harry's voice was quiet. Draco watched Harry's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Did we really need to know that?" He spat viciously.

Draco nodded. "I... I think so."

"And why?"

"Because of what you said earlier. And _him._"

"Care to share?" Harry's voice had a tint of bitterness in it, and Draco found himself wondering just how far off between the two _this_ Potter was.

Draco sighed and tried to compose his thoughts. "This whole place is built on our fears, right? The fog, the Hellhounds. Those were," Draco's lip curled at having to admit it to _Potter_ of all people, "my fears. This place is built on potential. This is what could be."

Harry nodded. "What could be if I had let the Hat put me in Slytherin." He looked down at his double and went whiter. Draco could see Harry's fingers twitching and knew the Gryffindor understood. "Who _I_ could be." Draco nodded. Harry laughed, a raspy bitter laugh that Draco would never had associated with the Gryffindor unless he had seen it. "So, how do we get out of here?"

Draco shrugged. "I really don't know, Potter. It's not like this place comes with an instruction manual."

"Well, you said the fog and Hellhounds were _your_ fear. That means that _you_," Harry poked him on the chest for emphasis, "are the one most likely to have banished them. What were you thinking about?"

"I _wasn't_, Potter. I was just running. There are things far more frightening than a little fog!" Draco found he was shouting by the end of it. Inexplicably, Harry smiled.

"Fuck me," he snickered. "I think he's got it." Draco glared at the Gryffindor.

"As... _enjoyable_ as that offer sounds, Potter, I prefer my liaisons in places not covered with ash, rubble, and dead bodies." Harry shot Draco a disbelieving look before he burst into laughter - real laughter this time. Draco raised an eyebrow in an obvious imitation of his Head of House before mimicking Harry's tones as best as he could. "Care to share?"

Harry continued to laugh for a few minutes before calming down. "I'm sorry, Draco, I'm not laughing at you. Not really. Just picturing Ron's face if he had ever heard us say that."

Draco smirked. "That is a sentiment I can approve off. It's always satisfying to send the Weasel into fits of apoplexy."

The words had the desired effect, and Harry stopped snickering. Draco pasted his most superior sneer on his face and stared at Harry, knowing it would aggravate the other boy. "Oh, stop that," Harry snorted. "You look like you have indigestion."

"What?" Draco squawked.

Harry snickered. "Why don't we continue with our _foreplay_ later, Draco? I seem to remember pointing out that we have _bigger things to worry about._" Harry gestured toward his double. Draco sighed, and nodded. "All right, then. Shall I tell you what I think?"

"Oh, please do. I value your opinion immensely, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Look, you said this place was built on fears, right?" Draco nodded cautiously. "Well, it sounds like when you were running, you were able to move past that fear. You stopped repressing it and started accepting it. Maybe that's all we have to do to move past each room."

Draco considered this. "Seems somewhat anticlimactic."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose you could see it that way. Personally, I'm happy not to have to constantly be battling."

"We could be wrong about this, you know."

"I know, Draco," Harry said very quietly. "Get his wand, will you?" Draco studied the other boy for a moment before nodding and doing as he asked. As soon as Potter's wand was in Draco's hand, he heard Harry's voice softly continue. "Finite Incantatum."

Draco whirled swiftly, trying to simultaneously turn and fall into a defensive stance. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?"

"What I have to," Harry answered, smiling faintly. Potter laughed.

"'What I have to'? How pathetic. To think I could ever be as weak as you," the venom of the words was evident both from the tone and the spittle that appeared on Harry's face. The Gryffindor used the sleeve of his robe to wipe it off. "How _I_ could ever be such a sniveling, colorless, drab, powerless _thing_ like you?" Potter's gaze took in Harry's clothes. "You still live with the Dursleys, don't you? You still let them order you around, and treat you worse than a House Elf. Have they started beating you yet?" Potter shook his head. "No, you're one of Dumbledore's precious _Gryffindors,_" there was more hate and loathing in Potter's voice than Draco himself could ever conjure, "of course, you're still protected." Potter snorted. "Don't you ever _learn_?" Suddenly, he turned to Draco, and the expression of hate on the face abruptly melted. Potter began stalking towards Draco.

"Stay away from me."

Potter laughed. "Oh, Draco, I expected better of you."

"Given that you tried to kill me, Potter, I find it unlikely that you would ever know _anything_ about me."

Potter moved closer, but didn't make any threatening moves. In fact, Draco thought, his body posture seemed more... seductive than anything. That alone threw Draco off so that he didn't hex the other boy. "Well," Potter was now close enough to invade Draco's personal space, "until you tried to get me to join Voldemort, we _were_ close."

"But -" Draco flailed for another reason, something else to help deny what Potter's body language was saying, "you talked of the Weasel and the Mudblood as if you knew them!"

Potter laughed. "Oh, Draco," he wrapped his arms around Draco's waist, bringing him flush, chest to chest, "that was your idea." Potter's lips were close, close enough to kiss, and Draco simply didn't know what to do. "And a good idea it was," Potter whispered, Draco inhaled his breath. "It got me close enough to kill them easily."

And with that, Harry Potter, the Slytherin, kissed his rival of seven years, Draco Malfoy.

Draco stood in total mind-numbing shock at the action, before regaining his senses and pushing Potter off. He had half a mind to hex the other boy for doing it too. Potter's expression as he stumbled back stopped him. Rage, anger, passion, hate, bitterness; all that and more swirled in the lines of Potter's face. It was a more open and honest expression than he had _ever_ seen on the Gryffindor. Potter turned to Harry viciously. "You! It must be _you_!"

"Potter..." Draco started, before trailing off. He didn't know which he was talking to, or even what to say.

"Stay out of it, Malfoy," Harry rapped back, not breaking eye contact with his double.

"Fine," Draco muttered, feeling a bit childish. "Kill yourself." He more than recognized the irony of the statement.

"So," Harry continued quietly. "You're me, then. With less restraint."

"I have more self-control than you could ever dream about," Potter sneered back. The expression, disturbingly, reminded Draco of Snape.

"Harry, are you _sure_ this is a good idea?" Draco held Potter's wand in both hands tightly and just contemplated breaking it.

"No." Draco snorted. "But don't break it yet. I think -" Harry sighed, finally looking at Draco. There were dark circles under the Gryffindor's eyes. "I think I have to do it."

"You won't." Potter cut in shortly. "You don't have the spine. There's enough of me in you to be worried about the consequences to your own magic if you do." The sneer melted into a smirk.

Draco watched the pair of Potters just stand there, one smirking, one glaring, and abruptly realized that he _wanted_ to help. That standing here, just watching, might very well be one of his own fears. He didn't like being cast into the passive role, and that's what this room had done to him. Potter - or Harry even - had been carrying him.

That thought made Draco _angry._

"It doesn't matter if he can't do it," Draco strode up behind Potter, and shoved the point of his own wand into his back. "Because I will. After casting a few painful hexes first."

Potter laughed. "Now that's the Draco Malfoy I know and love."

"You are a _figment_ of Potter's deluded psyche. You don't know me. You don't even know a figment of me. Don't _presume_ to know anything." Draco delivered the words in a quiet, calm tone directly contrasting with his deadly intent.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this," Harry said. There was a small bit of a smile hovering on his face. "But Malfoy's right." He met Draco's eyes over the fake Potter's shoulders, and there really was a smile in them, open and honest, the way he remembered those green eyes always being.

Draco vaguely wondered how he hadn't noticed the difference in the fake.

"You are," Harry continued, "what I could be. What Tom Riddle was, I think. But you aren't all that I am, and I don't have to become you. As long as I acknowledge that you're there." Harry held out his hand. For a moment Draco thought he was offering it to the fake, before he realized that Harry was looking at him. Slowly, so as to not allow the fake to take it back, Draco handed the wand over to Harry. He took the wand, grasping it firmly, and nodded his thanks to Draco. "Goodbye."

Harry broke the wand.

The fake screamed in rage and disappeared. In it's place, stood a small, old, unobtrusive door.

The door out of the room.

"Well," Draco said into the echoing silence. "Wasn't that easy?" Harry looked at him as if he was crazy. Draco laughed.

Author's Notes:

Draco referencing the judge as "my lord." Not being British, don't ask me to explain the entire system. However, what I've been told (thanks again, Hase, you rock~!), is that a person accused of murder would be tried in the Crown Court, and there judges are "my lord," "lord president," or "your lordship." Hence the line. You'd have to ask someone with more knowledge of the British legal system to get a better explanation.

Much of this chapter is referencing and directly influenced Jungian psychology and the concept of the "shadow self." It's really interesting, and I urge you all to look it up. But for a short idea of what exactly it _is,_ the best explanation of Jung's shadow self I ever read comes from "Owning Your Own Shadow: Understanding the Dark Side of the Psyche" by Robert A. Johnson. "In the cultural process we sort out our God-given characteristics into those that are acceptable to our society and those that have to be put away. This is wonderful and necessary, and there would be no civilized behavior without this sorting out of good and evil. But the refused and unacceptable characteristics do not go away; they only collect in the dark corners of our personality. When they have been hidden long enough, they take on a life of their own - the shadow life."

The title type, a reference to the Tea Party song "Turn the Lamp Down Low" off of the album The Edges of Twilight, also marks a shift within the story. There will be four distinct "phases" or "parts" (no, I can't tell you what they are, that'll spoil it!). This is the beginning of the second one. You'll be able to tell when those shifts happen due to the changes in the title type. Notice, all the chapter titles from phase one were related to houses. Phase two is going to feature song references. Kudos to the people who catch _why._

Er, sorry about the long wait on this chapter. I just had no will to write. In fact, this and my other major WIP, Psychopomp, are most likely going to be on hiatus for a while. So, I don't really know when the next chapters of either are going to be. I'm not planning on giving up completely on either story, but I have to move past the total lack of inspiration. Be patient, I guess.

Oh, and happy New Year.


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